THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


IN  MEMORY  OF 
MRS.  VIRGINIA  B.  SPORER 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 


IN  THE  BREWKRY  AT  BLANGY.     Frontispiece. 
From  the  drawing  by    Walter  Hale. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF 
FRANCE 


BY 

OWEN  JOHNSON 


WITH  DRAWINGS  BY  WALTER  HALE 
AND  OTHER  ILLUSTRATIONS 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 
1916 


Copyright,  1916, 
BY  OWEN  JOHNSON 


All  rights  reserved 
Published,  February,  1916 


PIMM 

S.  3.  PABXHILL  ft  Co.,  BOBTOH,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I     FRANCE  CONSECRATED  TO  WAR  .  i 

II       THE    PROFANATION    OF    R.HEIMS  .  2/ 

III  IN    THE   TRENCHES            .            .  .  57 

IV  ARRAS  UNDER  BOMBARDMENT  .  93 
V     NOTRE    DAME   DE   LORETTE    RE- 
CONQUERED      .        .        .  .  123 

VI     A  VILLAGE  IN  SHREDS          .  .  155 

VII     A  VISIT  TO  JOFFRE      .        .  .  .  I// 

VIII     THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  FRANCE  .  2O5 


2041713 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


In  the  brewery  at  Blangy         ....  Frontispiece 

From  the  drawing  by  Walter  Hale  FACING  PAGE 

General  Ferry,  one  of  the  brilliant  younger  leaders, 

in  a  typical  communication  trench    .         .         .  10 

Walter  Hale  and  the  author 1 1 

First  Arras  drive.     German  prisoners      ...  22 
A  chapel  transformed  into  a  hospital       ...  22 
Second  drive  in  Champagne.     German  prisoners    .  23 
Second  drive  in  Champagne.     The  big  bag  of  Ger- 
man prisoners 23 

View  of  the  battlefield  before  Rheims     ...  36 

Typical  street  directly  back  of  cathedral         .         .  37 

In  shattered  Rheims 37 

The  statue  of  Jeanne  d'Arc,  unscathed  during  the 
bombardment,  protecting  the  base  of  the  cathe- 
dral at  Rheims 48 

The  Hall  of  the  Kings,  next  to  the  cathedral  .         .  49 

Effect  of  one  shell  during  bombardment  of  Rheims  49 

Organization  of  a  captured  village  ....  62 
Wounded   brought   back   through   communication 

trench 62 

Observation  post  in  Aisne  valley     ....  63 

The  Aisne  battlefield.     Artillery  encampment          .  63 

Aeroplane  camp 80 

Field  hospital  and  sterilizing  plant  ...  80 

75  mm.  gun  for  use  against  aeroplanes    .         .         .  8 1 
Soldier  playing  on  musical  instrument  of  his  own 

creation 81 

Entrance    to   underground    dwellings    at    artillery 

encampment 90 


viii  List  of  Illustrations 

FACING  PAGE 

Thirty   feet   underneath    the   ground.      Bureau  of 

officers 90 

Damage  done  cathedral  of  Arras     .         .        .  .  91 

A  view  of  the  cathedral  under  bombardment  .  .  91 

Arras  before .  96 

From  the  drawing  by  Walter  Hale 

Arras  after 97 

From  the  drawing  by  Walter  Hale 

Effect  of  one  shell  in  Arras 100 

Old  woman  living  in  cellar  within  one  hundred  yards 

of  bombarded  cathedral   .         .         .         .         .  101 

House  disembowelled  by  one  shell  in  street  of  Arras  101 

View  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville 106 

Soldiers  in  dugouts  giving  addresses  in  order  to 

receive  photos 107 

Captured  German  trenches  reorganized  by  engineers  107 
Aspect  of  Notre  Dame  de  Lorette  slopes         .         .  126 
Part  of  battlefield  of  Notre  Dame  de  Lorette,  show- 
ing effect  of  artillery  fire 126 

Effect  of  the  explosion  of  a  French  mine         .        .  127 

Effect  of  French  artillery  fire  in  trenches         .        .  127 
The  railroad  through  the  woods  to  carry  water  and 

ammunition      .         .         .         .         .         .         .  134 

Captain  X.  telling  story  of  the  taking  of  first  German 

trench 135 

Captain  X.'s  men 135 

The  road  through  Mont  St.  Eloi      .        .        .        .  158 

From  the  drawing  by  Walter  Hale 

The  ruined  church  of  Ablain  St.  Nazaire         .        .         162 

From  the  drawing  by  Walter  Hale 
The  pump  at  Ablain  St.  Nazaire,  where  only  the  wall 

separated  the  French  and  the  Germans    .         .         166 
Typical  scene  in  captured  German  stronghold         .         167 


FRANCE  CONSECRATED  TO  WAR 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

CHAPTER  I 

FBANCE   CONSECEATED    TO   WAB. 

I  REMEMBER  vividly  the  night  be- 
fore our  arrival  at  Bordeaux.  The 
portholes  were  blinded,  the  lights  extin- 
guished in  the  saloons.  In  the  sealed  smok- 
ing room,  by  the  flare  of  one  smoky  lamp, 
groups  were  preparing  to  pass  the  night. 

We  stood  on  the  forward  deck,  eagerly 
straining  our  eyes  into  the  darkness  to  catch 
the  first  glimpses  of  the  shore  Lights.  For 
the  last  hour  the  night  had  trembled  under 
strange,  furtive  glares.  Were  we  accompa- 
nied by  silent  iron  escorts,  sweeping  the  mys- 
terious waters  with  suspicious  shafts  from 
their  cyclopean  eyes,  or  was  it  simply  the 
electrical  disturbances  in  the  overheated  sky? 


4  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

We  waited,  still  straining  ahead  in  the 
moist,  errant  night  breeze,  feeling  the  im- 
minence of  the  stricken  land  ahead,  as 
though  a  black  curtain  were  interposed  be- 
tween us  and  France,  country  of  shocks  and 
sorrow,  wondering  what  the  morrow  would 
bring  with  the  rolling  up  of  these  tragic 
folds  on  the  stage  of  cruel  reality.  I  re- 
member how  acute  was  this  sensation  of 
dramatic  suspense,  and  now  that  the  jour- 
ney was  ending  I  felt  almost  a  shrinking  be- 
fore the  parting  of  the  last  veil,  fearful  of 
the  spectacle  which  would  present  itself  to 
me  of  the  France  which  I  had  known  and 
loved. 

For,  when  I  had  thought  of  France,  I 
had  always  thought  of  it  as  the  happiest, 
fairest  land  on  the  earth's  surface.  I  re- 
membered it  with  the  eyes  of  my  early  school 
days  as  a  fairyland  of  childhood,  where  frag- 
ile, childish  illusions  were  affectionately 
guarded  from  the  soiling,  crushing  weight 


FRANCE  CONSECRATED  TO  WAR       5 

of  life's  struggles  and  realism.  I  remem- 
bered it  as  a  land  of  disciplined  beauty,  of 
bright  colors,  of  flowering  window;  a  land 
of  friendly  animals  beside  blue-bloused 
charioteers  or  running  between  the  wheels 
in  zealous  loyalty  to  man.  I  remembered 
its  many-tinted  fields,  its  long,  military 
lines  of  poplars  marching  by  the  white, 
smooth  roadsides;  its  tranquil  canals,  so 
shaded  and  so  peaceful;  its  great-hearted 
peasantry,  singing  and  laughing,  neither 
miserable  nor  oppressed,  but  free  and  rich, 
reveling  in  the  beauty  of  nature  and  the  joy 
of  living. 

I  knew  it,  above  all,  for  its  love  of  gen- 
erous and  glorious  ideas,  and  often,  knowing 
it  with  a  more  intimate  affection  than  those 
who,  in  the  quest  of  some  new  literary  al- 
chemy, sought  only  the  psychopathic  analy- 
sis of  the  frothy,  mongrel  mixture  of  all 
races  and  all  parvenus  that  fatuously  believe 
themselves  the  voice  of  Paris,  I  had  pas- 


6  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

sionately  defended  them  from  those  of  my 
own  people  who  saw  only  the  green,  passing 
scum  on  the  surface,  and  knew  nothing  of 
the  deep,  clear  depths  below. 

Yet,  even  with  this  reverent  faith,  that 
night  on  the  threshold  of  the  great  test,  I 
wondered — a  little  fearful.  The  nation 
of  the  freest,  happiest  people  on  the  face 
of  the  earth  had  arisen  to  the  test  and  per- 
formed a  miracle — but  after?  Would  the 
intelligence  continue  as  firm  as  the  imagina- 
tion? Would  its  resolution  remain  as  he- 
roic, after  the  long,  grinding  months  of  soul 
exhaustion?  Would  there  be  any  weaken- 
ing before  the  long  task  still  ahead,  the  spirit 
of  sublime  sacrifice  relaxing  into  an  easy 
self-deception  lulled  by  the  sophistry  of  a 
present  peace,  an  armistice  which  would 
mean  the  doom  of  republican  ideas  before 
the  rise  of  a  barbaric  efficiency  tormented  by 
the  fanaticism  of  predestination? 

Even  if  the  answer  to  all  these  doubts 


FRANCE  CONSECRATED  TO  WAR       7 

were  a  glorious  affirmative,  would  the  sight 
of  open  wounds  and  a  sorrow-ridden  coun- 
try be  so  vivid  that  the  abiding  impression  I 
would  take  away  would  be  one  of  inefface- 
able melancholy  and  depression? 

All  these  thoughts  crowded  into  my 
imagination  that  last  dramatic  night,  wait- 
ing there  in  the  darkness,  feeling  the  undi- 
vined  horizon  growing  gradually  closer,  as 
scattering  pin-pricks  of  light  swept  toward 
us  above  the  mystery  of  the  sea,  until  shafts 
of  light  belched  out  from  a  dozen  light- 
houses and  our  ears  awaited  expectantly  a 
following  crash,  as  though  these  flashes  of 
human  lightning  must  indeed  be  followed  by 
the  roar  of  cannon-ridden  Europe. 

My  first  impression  was,  as  I  had  feared, 
one  of  overwhelming  sadness.  The  wind- 
ing, incomparably  beautiful  approach  into 
port,  through  historic  vineyards  running  to 
the  water's  edge,  combing  the  fields  with 
their  green  ridges;  faint,  ancient  lines  of 


8  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

chateau  and  church  spire;  fair  villages  in 
red  and  white  trappings ;  languid  barks  with 
colored  sails — all  were  meaningless  in  my. 
eagerness  for  the  human  note. 

Everywhere  such  an  absence  of  youth  and 
sturdy  manhood  1  Children  and  old  men, 
and,  everywhere,  women !  Such  multiplied, 
insistent  black  blots  of  mourning  against  the 
rich,  young  green!  Nearer  the  city,  over 
the  docks — and  through  the  streets,  this  ab- 
sence of  men  disappeared;  only  the  world 
seemed  uniform,  waiting  for  a  bugle  on  the 
air  to  herd  together,  to  take  shape  and 
march  endlessly  aWay. 

In  the  station  everything  was  swallowed 
up  in  this  military  note — a  churning,  cur- 
dling meeting  of  the  waters.  The  long  train 
was  filling  up  with  fresh  red  corpuscles  to 
be  pumped  through  the  life  veins  to  the 
menaced  front.  The  confusion  of  uniforms 
was  like  the  babel  of  tongues — dark-blue 
coats,  blue-gray,  khaki,  red  trousers,  and  the 


FRANCE  CONSECRATED  TO  WAR       9 

olive  green,  sweeping  folds  of  the  Zouaves; 
officers  in  smart,  pearl-blue  shell  jackets, 
and  others  gray  and  seared  with  service; 
bearded,  ragged  privates,  with  young,  boy- 
ish faces. 

In  this  bustle  of  departure,  side  by  side, 
was  the  sobering  spectacle  of  destiny  in  the 
worn  and  stricken  figures  of  the  wounded 
— men  on  crutches,  limping  on  canes,  heads 
bandaged,  arms  in  slings,  an  empty  trouser 
leg  or  a  sleeve  pinned  up,  crossing  and  re- 
crossing  those  whose  turn  had  now  come  to 
face  the  inexorable  cast — those  who  looked 
at  them  steadily,  thinking  their  own 
thoughts. 

Through  the  young  and  the  maimed  a 
dozen  white-robed,  charming  silhouettes  of 
the  ministering  nurses  of  the  Red  Cross 
flitted  in  their  busy  tasks,  bringing  the 
wounded  to  rooms  for  temporary  bandages, 
cutting  away  soiled  cloths,  substituting 
fresh,  clean  ones.  In  the  dark  station,  so 


10  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

serious,  so  grim,  and  so  quiet,  with  its  sudden 
military  groups  in  shadow,  these  white-robed 
figures  of  young  women  had  something  so 
noble  and  so  healing  in  the  grace  and  dignity 
of  their  presence  that  they  seemed  to  move 
amid  the  stern  and  unlovely  grimness  of  war 
as  the  ethereal  vision  of  an  artist. 

The  train  moved  out  to  its  long  flight  over 
the  stricken  land.  A  general  and  a  young 
sergeant  came  into  my  compartment.  The 
first  feeling  of  sadness  which  had  come  over 
me,  like  a  quick  intake  of  the  breath,  or  an 
uncontrolled  rush  of  tears  to  the  eyes,  now 
deepened  as  the  memory  of  the  crowds  re- 
mained. Something  had  gone  out  of 
France  for  me — the  laughter  and  the  bub- 
bling joy  of  life,  which  used  to  rise  in  high- 
pitched  notes  of  excitement  in  every  pleas- 
ant crowd.  There  was  no  paltering  of  il- 
lusions here.  What  had  passed  had  struck 
too  deep ;  what  was  coming  lay  too  near. 

Out  of  this  pervading  desolation,  one  im- 


GENERAL    FERRY,    ONE    OK    THE    BRILLIANT    YOUNGER    LEADERS, 
IN    A    TYPICAL    COMMUNICATION    TRENCH. 


WALTER  HALE  AND  THE  AUTHOR. 


FRANCE  CONSECRATED  TO  WAR     11 

pression  detached  itself,  unexpected  and 
gratefully  surprising.  Though  every  detail 
was  martial  to  the  eye,  the  note  of  militarism 
was  strikingly  absent.  There  was  no  heel- 
clicking  and  clocklike  saluting.  Generals, 
colonels,  captains,  non-commissioned  offi- 
cers, and  privates  brushed  by  each  other  in 
the  utmost  simplicity,  as  though  in  the  pres- 
ent necessity  the  etiquette  of  parade  was  too 
trivial  to  be  noticed.  With  the  growing 
sense  of  a  nation's  sorrow,  there  came  side  by 
side  this  dawning  comprehension  of  the  spirit 
of  France  in  the  perception  of  the  fraternity 
and  democracy  in  these  armies  of  a  republic. 
In  the  dining  car  we  sat  down,  a  party 
of  four — a  general,  a  plain  soldier,  and  an 
under  officer — without  the  slightest  feeling 
of  unease,  the  general  answering  a  chance 
question  I  addressed  to  the  private,  scrupu- 
lously and  politely  offering  us  the  first  op- 
portunity at  each  dish  passed.  This  utter 
simplicity  was  too  natural  to  be  even  noticed 


12  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

by  them ;  it  was  an  impression  that  was  never 
to  leave  me,  a  feeling  of  the  sympathy,  char- 
ity, and  the  kinship  of  a  great  stricken  f am- 

ay- 

At  every  city,  General  X  drew  my  atten- 
tion to  converted  factories,  the  red  flare  of 
furnaces  leaping  out  of  the  obscurity, 
stacked  heaps  of  iron  tubes  rising  like  honey- 
combs. 

"Shells  for  the  front,  for  our  busy  little 
75s." 

"And  there  are  many  women  at  work 
there?"  I  asked,  perceiving,  to  my  surprise, 
in  this  feverish  insect  activity,  the  faces  of 
young  girls. 

"At  least  half,  sometimes  more,"  and  he 
added  reverently,  "what  women!" 

The  region  of  vineyards  fell  behind.  We 
entered  a  Land  of  Canaan,  of  glorious  har- 
vests. Never  have  I  seen  a  more  crowded 
land.  Down  to  the  iron  boundary  of  the 
roadbed  itself  came  the  swarming  fields  of 


wheat  and  oats,  crowding  the  smooth  white 
roads,  as  though  poised  to  swallow  them  up 
in  the  mad,  leaping  joy  of  production.  Not 
a  plot  of  ground,  not  fifty  feet  square,  but 
was  doing  its  duty  for  the  sons  who  loved 
and  defended  it.  The  fair  land  of  France 
itself  seemed  fighting  for  its  armies  in  this 
gold  and  green  output  spilling  over  the  land 
—these  young  generations  of  the  soil  coming 
eagerly  forth,  like  the  young  generations  of 
men  that  would  grow  up  to  defend  their 
homes  in  future  tests. 

Through  the  mellowing  wheat  the  poppies 
drenched  the  field  in  sanguine  stains — a 
vision  of  far-off  battlefields !  As  deep  as  we 
could  see,  ceaselessly,  beyond  each  succeed- 
ing horizon,  this  golden  flood  rolled  glor- 
iously away,  rustling  like  a  calm  sea  caressed 
by  zephyrs,  seeming  to  overrun  everything, 
inundating  the  land,  submerging  clustered 
trees  and  farm-houses,  while  tiny  villages 
far  off  seemed  to  sink  beneath  the  rising  tide. 


14  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

Through  this  pervading  abundance  were 
dotted  active,  sombre  spots  of  human  beings, 
like  thronging  bees,  tireless  and  greedy. 
Only,  when  seen  close  to,  a  generation  was 
missing!  Young  women,  wives,  mothers, 
the  old  folks — so  old  and  so  bent  at  times 
that  movement  seemed  impossible — the  chil- 
dren of  6  to  7,  boys  of  14  and  16;  but  of  men 
in  the  mellowness  of  age,  not  a  sign!  Men 
there  were,  dotting  the  banks  at  every  clus- 
tered hamlet — but  bandaged,  or  on  crutches 
— their  duty  done,  or  struggling  back  to 
strength  and  a  new  summons. 

At  every  station  at  which  we  stopped— 
great  city  or  village  of  a  hundred  souls — it 
was  the  same  story — soldiers,  healed,  or  sol- 
diers recalled,  returning  to  the  front,  and, 
by  their  sides,  women  in  black.  Never  shall 
I  forget  the  look  on  the  faces  of  those 
women,  turning  away  to  hide  the  coming 
tears,  or  standing  immovable  as  images,  star- 
ing sternly  ahead,  dry-faced,  seeing  visions, 


FRANCE  CONSECRATED  TO  WAR      15 

imprinting  in  their  memories  a  last  look  to 
bear  down  the  empty  future. 

At  Poictiers,  a  score  of  boyish  figures  in 
clean,  grayish  uniforms,  were  sprinkled  in 
the  worn  crowd  of  shaggy  veterans.  I 
passed  close  to  them.  They  were  the  re- 
cruits of  19,  going  off  to  their  years  of  prep- 
aration, serious,  exalted,  boyish  in  face, 
standing  apart  to  listen  to  the  last  calm 
words  of  exhortation  from  black-clad  moth- 
ers who  had  given  so  deeply  of  their  hu- 
man store,  so  unflinching  in  their  loyalty,  so 
ready  to  give  until  the  end,  to  keep  the  fair 
name  of  France  untarnished!  Already, 
through  the  tightening  at  my  heart,  there  had 
begun  a  sense  of  exaltation,  a  surging  pride 
in  human  nature,  looking  on  these  boys  of 
19,  so  reverent  and  so  earnest  before  the  sud- 
den summons  to  manhood  and  the  privilege 
of  dying. 

The  wounded  passed  us  in  long  trains 
from  the  front,  the  compartments  choked 


16  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

with  soldiers  back  for  a  few  weeks'  recupera- 
tion in  the  open  homes  of  the  south;  other 
cars,  significantly  quiet,  with  glimpses  of  im- 
movable bodies  stretched  among  the  straw. 
On  these  faces  of  men  who  had  lived  among 
the  dying  and  seen  death  pass  a  hundred 
times  by  their  side  there  was  an  expression  in 
the  eyes  such  as  I  had  never  seen.  It  was  as 
though  what  they  have  looked  upon  had  been 
so  hideous  that  the  memory  haunted  them 
still,  leaving  every  nerve  quivering  with  a 
supernatural  fright.  At  times  on  a  young 
face  this  expression  was  like  a  child's — a 
child  in  its  first  conception  of  sorrow, 
vaguely  conscious  that  such  a  thing  as  death 
exists,  frightened  and  trying  to  comprehend 
what  this  thing  must  be. 

At  Poictiers,  a  group  of  young  wives  with 
their  children  had  come  into  our  compart- 
ment. They  were  in  black,  even  to  a  golden- 
haired  little  girl  of  11,  on  whom  it  seemed  to 
set  so  heavily.  The  mothers  began  instantly 


FRANCE  CONSECRATED  TO  WAR      17 

on  their  work  of  rolling  bandages ;  each  had 
from  ten  to  twenty  convalescents  quartered 
in  her  home.  Hour  after  hour  the  same 
panorama  unfolded — at  every  step,  a  man 
departing,  a  woman  remaining  behind,  her 
handkerchief  to  her  eyes.  Throughout  the 
whole  land  there  seemed  to  be  but  two  uni- 
forms and  but  two  colors — drab  war  and 
black  resignation. 

At  Paris — the  gay,  joyous,  electric  city 
I  knew — my  first  impression  was  of  great 
multitudes  suddenly  hushed  and  sobered,  a 
quiet,  profound  silence,  yet,  over  all,  a  per- 
vading calm  and  an  inflexible  resolve.  Im- 
agine, if  you  can,  a  whole  nation  confronted 
by  the  certainty  of  death  on  a  fixed  date; 
that  irrevocably  in  one  month  it  must  perish, 
one  and  all,  and  how,  face  to  face  with  the 
final  reckoning,  it  would  set  to  work  to  pre- 
pare itself;  the  stillness  and  suspense  in  the 
soul,  the  wiping  out  of  earthly  vanities  and 
petty  contentions  under  the  awed  sense  of  a 


18  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

common  fate.  Imagine  that,  and  you  will 
realize  the  impression  France  made  on  me 
that  first  day. 

For  several  days  this  sensation  continued. 
Paris  seemed  like  one  great  family  united  in 
a  common  grief.  Bright  colors  were  so  com- 
pletely absent  from  the  avenues  that  it 
seemed  a  world  in  drab ;  even  the  courtesans, 
in  restaurant  or  trailing  the  street,  were  som- 
brely attired  in  black  or  dark-blue  tailored 
suits,  without  a  suspicion  of  coquetry  in  hat 
or  blouse.  In  the  restaurants,  where  for- 
merly a  profligate  cosmopolitan  society  had 
spilled  its  wealth,  I  seemed  to  be  dining  in  a 
railroad  restaurant;  not  even  a  dinner  jacket 
was  to  be  seen  among  the  men,  not  a  display 
of  jewelry  among  the  women,  or  an  attempt 
at  decollete;  no  gayety  and  no  laughter; 
conversation  in  low-pitched  voices,  as  though 
solicitous  of  the  feelings  of  those  who  might 
be  in  grief  beside  them. 

At  10  o'clock,  and  a  clearing  of  tables, 


FRANCE  CONSECRATED  TO  WAR     19 

chairs  stacked  for  the  night,  a  sudden  fall 
of  darkness  over  the  streets  save  for  a  few 
picketed  lights  shaded  against  the  approach 
of  Zeppelins  above.  The  walk  home,  up 
the  Champs  Elysees,  seemed  indeed  a 
ghostly  voyage  through  Elysian  fields,  with 
bodiless  shadows  whispering  at  our  sides. 
Above,  in  the  clear  night,  as  we  looked,  sud- 
denly a  star  seemed  to  detach  itself  from  a 
constellation  and  come  sweeping  across  the 
sky  like  a  comet  of  destruction,  then  a  whirr 
like  the  buzzing  of  an  enormous  darning 
needle ;  and  we  realized  that  aloft  in  the  night 
a  sentinel  was  keeping  watch  over  Paris. 

Gradually,  however,  as  I  began  to  see  un- 
derneath the  surface,  passing  behind  a  hun- 
dred scenes,  I  perceived  that  this  was  not  a 
life  of  stagnation,  but  a  swarming  existence 
of  consecration.  By  the  end  of  my  first  week 
in  Paris  the  feeling  of  depression  had  com- 
pletely disappeared,  never  to  return  again. 
Instead,  I  found  a  rare  exaltation  of  the 


20  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

soul,  a  happiness  at  discovering  unsuspected 
beauties  in  our  common  humanity.  The 
feeling  that  remains  to-day  is  one  of  thank- 
fulness to  have  been  privileged  to  live  in  such 
moments,  to  have  known  the  heroism  and  the 
devotion  of  which  men  and  women  are  ca- 
pable. 

This  Paris  was  an  orderly  Paris — a 
strange  city,  without  violence  and  crime, 
where  women  passed  unprotected  on  their 
errands  of  mercy,  along  ill-lighted  streets 
and  parks  of  darkness,  over  obscure  bridges 
looking  down  on  the  Seine,  that  flows  like  a 
river  of  the  dead,  passages  that  a  year  ago, 
even  under  a  thousand  searching  lights, 
would  have  exposed  them  to  insult  and  vio- 
lence at  every  step.  In  the  gray  of  the  com- 
ing morning,  now,  instead  of  revelers  re- 
turning after  long  nights  of  dissipation, 
women  of  the  best  society,  old  and  young, 
cross  each  other  with  the  early  passage  of  the 
milk  wagons,  released  from  long  vigils  at  the 


FRANCE  CONSECRATED  TO  WAR     21 

hospitals,  or  arriving  for  a  day  of  minister- 
ing to  the  suffering. 

We  went  one  night  into  the  Folies  Ma- 
rigny  on  our  way  home — a  lugubrious,  re- 
vealing experience.  A  quarter  of  the  or- 
chestra was  filled ;  a  sprinkling  in  the  gallery. 
One  would  have  thought  the  crowd  assem- 
bled for  a  memorial  service.  A  mimic  im- 
personated a  dozen  of  the  popular  heroes — 
Foch,  Gallieni,  French,  and  the  idol  of  the 
nation,  Joffre — result,  not  the  slightest  out- 
burst of  high-strung  enthusiasm ;  a  generous 
round  of  hand-clapping,  nothing  more. 
The  game  was  not  a  game  for  children,  nor 
could  they  be  tricked  into  children's  displays. 
Each  spectator  had  the  look  of  having  made 
up  his  mind  never  to  return  again.  In  this 
former  centre  of  frivolity,  frivolity  slunk 
away,  crushed  and  defeated. 

At  each  hotel,  at  each  department  store,  a 
great  tablet  was  displayed  of  the  employes 
who  had  gone  to  their  duty,  and  underneath, 


22  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

the  record  of  each — wounded  on  such  a  date ; 
mentioned  in  general  orders;  promoted;  a 
prisoner;  dead  on  the  field  of  honor. 
Along  the  Champs  Elysees,  by  the  Punch 
and  Judy  theatres  and  the  merry-go- 
rounds,  the  children  seemed  to  have  come 
from  one  vast  orphan  asylum.  Yet  this 
open  and  reverent  display  of  mourning 
gave  a  national  solidarity,  a  feeling  of  unity 
in  sorrow,  that  ran  through  all  ranks  and 
made  the  individual  loss  perhaps  easier  to 
bear,  as  it  unified  the  inflexible  determina- 
tion to  win  in  the  end. 

How  many  times  during  these  ten  days' 
waiting  to  go  to  the  front,  on  visits  to  hos- 
pitals, depots  for  ecloppes,  national  dinners, 
ateliers  of  great  shops,  maternity  reliefs,  a 
dozen  ouvroirs  where  women  in  hundreds 
were  sewing  for  a  bare  1.50f.  a  day,  did  I 
receive  the  invariable  answer  to  my  question : 

"And,  after  all,  no  flinching?  The  war 
must  go  on?" 


FIRST  ARRAS  DRIVE.   GERMAN  PRISONERS. 


A    CHAPEL    TRANSFORMED    INTO    A    HOSPITAL. 


SECOND  DRIVE  IN  CHAMPAGNE.    GERMAN  PRISONERS. 


SECOND  DRIVE  IN  CHAMPAGNE.    THE  BIG  BAG  OF 
GERMAN  PRISONERS. 


FRANCE  CONSECRATED  TO  WAR      23 

"Till  it  is  ended,  once  for  all,  Monsieur. 
We  must  think  of  our  children." 

"And  you  have  not  lost  courage?"  I  asked 
involuntarily,  moved  at  the  spectacle  of  this 
patient  toiling  that  hardly  paid  for  the  daily 
bread,  which  had  gone  on  now  such  long 
months. 

A  mother  gave  me  the  answer — a  mother 
who  had  given  one  son  already  and  had  an- 
other at  Arras,  in  the  bloodiest  trenches. 

"We  women  must  keep  up  our  courage, 
Monsieur,  to  encourage  our  men." 

Not  even  America  so  ardently  loves  and 
longs  for  peace  as  France — peace  for  her 
children!  Yet  not  a  woman  in  the  throngs 
I  questioned  gave  me  an  un- Spartan  answer. 
So  inflexible  is  their  pride  of  country,  so  con- 
secrated their  resolution,  that  if  a  ministry 
should  attempt  to  betray  France  with  an 
illusory  peace,  in  the  absence  of  men,  the 
women,  I  believe,  would  rise  and  make  a 
revolution!  I  will  quote  but  one  of  a  hun- 


24  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

dred  letters  shown  me,  without  comment,  for 
comment  would  be  futile.  It  is  from  a 
mother  to  the  head  of  a  great  ammunition 
factory,  where  her  two  sons  have  been  trans- 
ferred from  the  front  to  give  their  trained 
services. 

I  have  just  learned  that  you  have  asked  the 
Superintendent  to  keep  my  sons  away  from  the 
most  dangerous  experiments  in  the  charging  of 
the  shells.  I  can't  tell  you  how  offensive  this  de- 
mand is  to  me.  I  consider  that  my  sons  should 
go  where  there  is  the  most  danger  to  be  incurred. 

They  should  do  so,  first,  because  they  are  the 
nephews  of  one  of  the  owners.  Their  duty  is  to 
give  an  example  of  courage  to  the  employees  who 
may  be  haunted  by  the  memory  of  the  terrible 
catastrophes  which  have  taken  place  lately,  which 
were  the  result  of  the  inexperience  and  imprudence 
of  those  who  were  directing  the  operations.  They 
should  assist  in  all  such  experiments,  even  were 
they  more  dangerous  than  they  are  in  reality,  be- 
cause my  sons  are  soldiers. 

You  know  that  I  only  consented  to  advise  their 
leaving  the  front  because  you  assured  me  that  their 
presence  in  the  factories  would  be  more  important 
than  in  the  trenches,  and  that  there  would  be  cer- 
tain dangers  to  be  met.  The  first  accident  that  oc- 
curred at  the  factory  decided  me  to  grant  your 


FRANCE  CONSECRATED  TO  WAR     25 

request.  I  beg  of  you  not  to  change  now  in  any 
way  the  duties  of  my  sons. 

When  war  was  declared  I  foresaw  clearly  all  the 
sorrows  which  would  visit  us,  and  I  promised  my- 
self that  I  would  give  my  children  an  example  of 
courage.  My  daughters  will  not  see  me  over- 
whelmed by  misfortunes ;  my  sons  know  with  what 
pride  I  have  seen  them  and  wish  to  see  them  face 
the  worst  dangers. 

Sorrow  has  visited  both  you  and  me  already  in 
its  cruelest  form.  Do  not  let  us  ask  for  pity.  Let 
us  go  to  the  end  of  the  Calvary  without  flinching. 

I  will  not  give  the  signature,  for  in  justice, 
if  I  gave  it,  it  should  be  signed— 

ANY  MOTHER  IN  FRANCE. 


THE  PROFANATION  OF  RHEIMS 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  PROFANATION  OF  RHEIMS 

FOR  the  last  week,  the  obsession  of  the 
front  trenches  had  been  growing  over 
us.  Of  the  unconquerable  tenacity  of  an 
awakened  people  and  its  clear,  reasoning 
perception  of  the  necessity  of  a  decisive  re- 
sult, cost  what  it  might,  I  had  convincing 
testimony  in  a  thousand  directions.  Grad- 
ually I  had  seemed  to  be  approaching  nearer 
and  nearer  the  actual  shock  of  the  battle  line. 
I  had  begun  to  catch  the  spirit  of  the 
Army  of  the  Republic  in  the  dozen  visits  I 
had  made,  under  the  guidance  of  Dr.  Pozzi, 
through  the  crowded  corridors  of  the  Val  de 
Grace,  and  many  improvised  hospitals.  The 
resignation  and  abnegation  of  these  muti- 
lated victims,  facing  life  as  a  long,  distorted 
struggle,  without  reproach  or  recrimination, 


30  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

impressed  me  with  the  magnitude  of  the  self- 
sacrifice,  which  could  count  nothing  as 
against  the  life  and  honor  of  the  nation.  At 
Aubervilliers,  at  two  depots  of  the  ecloppes, 
I  came  even  nearer  to  the  grim  actuality. 

A  great,  improvised  camp  was  tenanted 
by  over  a  thousand  soldiers  back  for  a  few 
weeks'  recuperation.  A  group  of  thirty 
came  in  as  we  arrived — a  group  physically 
exhausted,  with  shattered  nerves,  and  yet 
with  an  unquenchable  spark  of  bulldog  te- 
nacity in  their  faces.  They  seemed  drunk 
with  sleeplessness,  in  need  of  a  moral  re- 
cuperation, as  though  the  body  had  been  too 
weak  for  the  exaltation  of  the  soul.  For, 
remember,  that  until  the  1st  of  July  these 
men  had  stood  like  rocks  in  the  trenches, 
without  a  furlough. 

Through  canvas-roofed  barracks,  from 
crowded  halls  lined  with  beds,  we  passed 
into  a  great  factory  converted  into  sleeping 
quarters  for  the  hundreds  whose  period  of 


THE  PROFANATION  OF  RHEIMS     31 

rest  being  completed,  were  ready  for  the 
summons  to  the  front.  There  was  no  excite- 
ment, no  boasting,  no  hilarity — it  was  a  grim 
and  oppressive  stillness.  A  list  had  been 
posted  of  those  called,  and  the  crowd  hud- 
dled about  the  placard,  reading  the  names. 
Twenty- four  hours  later  they  would  be  back 
under  shell  and  shrapnel. 

I  examined  them  curiously,  feeling  that 
here,  if  anywhere,  among  those  to  whom 
death  had  passed  so  closely,  there  would  be 
signs  of  flinching.  There  was  no  bombast; 
the  same  grim  feeling  of  duty  was  every- 
where. What  must  be,  must  be. 

At  a  second  post  we  found  a  contingent 
of  three  or  four  hundred,  re-equipped,  wait- 
ing to  entrain.  Here,  the  certainty  of  going 
seemed  to  have  released  the  spirits.  Every- 
where were  groups,  young  and  old,  black, 
coffee-colored,  and  white,  discussing  the  war, 
laying  down  their  theories  of  attack  and  de- 
fense. A  cluster  was  listening  to  a  Spahi, 


32  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

laughing  at  his  voluble,  childish  French,  as 
he  expounded  his  theory  of  war.  He  wished 
to  suppress  the  marmites  (high  explosive 
shells) — each  side.  The  fight  should  be 
man  to  man — then  they  would  see!  Even 
hand-to-hand — give  them  only  rocks,  and 
they  would  drive  the  Germans  into  the  sea! 

He  was  good  natured,  but  quite  excited 
at  the  teasing  from  his  comrades.  He  be- 
gan again  from  the  beginning,  while  I 
listened  seriously.  Then  we  shook  hands. 
I  was  to  see  him  again  at  Notre  Dame  de 
Lorette,  passing  in  a  company  of  Spahis. 
Here  the  morale  was  astonishingly  ardent. 
In  fact,  the  nearer  we  approached  the  front 
the  higher  we  found  the  courage,  imagina- 
tion, and  devotion  of  the  troops. 

A  dozen  friends  of  mine,  recuperating 
from  wounds  or  on  forty-eight  hours'  leave, 
fired  my  imagination  with  personal  narra- 
tives of  actual  warfare.  Those  just  back 
from  the  front  seemed  possessed  with  a 


THE  PROFANATION  OF  RHEIMS     33 

frenzy  of  excitement,  with  an  obsession  to 
return,  that  brought  me  more  and  more  eag- 
erly to  the  days  set  for  our  first  trip  in  the 
general  direction  of  Rheims. 

At  length  the  day  arrived  and  we  were 
sent  forward  to  Epernay,  a  party  of  four, 
under  the  guidance  of  Captain  X.  of  the 
General  Staff,  and  even  before  we  realized 
it  were  out  in  the  station,  ready  for  our  first 
view  of  the  front,  which  for  the  last  weeks 
had  so  often  risen  before  our  imaginations 
in  the  vivid  narrative  of  a  returned  friend. 

At  last,  in  automobile,  we  were  rushing 
forward  through  the  heart  of  the  cham- 
pagne district ;  through  green  valleys  combed 
with  vines;  over  the  straight  white  roads 
where  once,  in  the  faltering  days  of  mid- 
August,  the  German  horde  had  poured,  their 
tramp,  like  the  iron  fall  of  mechanical  mon- 
sters, stamping  domination  and  terror,  whole 
villages  lighting  their  ghostly  advance. 
Again,  a  week  later,  they  had  returned ;  but 


34  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

this  time  in  sullen,  uncomprehending  retreat, 
at  a  speed  quickened  by  the  terror  of  some 
unknown,  withheld  disaster,  while  beyond, 
over  the  crest  of  the  fruitful  slopes,  in  a 
breathless  frenzy,  the  youth  of  France  came 
surging  in  pursuit,  the  great  Revolution  re- 
incarnated, triumphant  and  glorious! 

To-day  this  quiet,  immaculate,  disciplined 
country  lay  under  our  eyes,  unshaken  under 
this  double  shock.  Now,  on  the  threshold 
of  actual  war,  our  imaginations  invoked  the 
spectacle  of  those  rapid,  miraculous  days; 
of  the  long  trains  garlanded  with  flowers, 
rising  out  of  one  horizon  as  another  went 
thundering  beyond  the  eye,  running  cease- 
lessly through  a  sleepless  land,  bearing  the 
ready  and  impulsive  youth  of  France  singing 
on  their  way  to  the  sacrifice;  the  exalted 
women  lining  the  voyage  in  a  surging,  sub- 
lime unity  of  soul — incredible  days,  than 
which  not  even  the  great,  patriotic  outbursts 
of  the  Revolution  held  more  self-abnegation. 


THE  PROFANATION  OF  RHEIMS     35 

With  these  dramatic  high-lights  in  the 
memory,  I  wondered  what  my  impressions 
would  be  in  the  face  of  the  actual — the  la- 
borious war  of  to-day.  For  every  great  hu- 
man or  national  crisis  has  its  moment  of  im- 
mense dramatic  significance,  beyond  which 
even  the  greatest  tragedies  relapse  into  a 
certain  human  routine.  What  would  be  the 
attitude  of  the  warm,  mercurial  French  tem- 
perament toward  the  now  present  necessity 
of  cruel  and  unlovely  self -discipline,  of  in- 
glorious patience  and  abrupt  and  unseen 
death,  denied  the  compensating  trappings  of 
martial  glory?  What  would  be  their  resolu- 
tion in  the  face  of  a  lingering  conflict,  the 
attitude  of  these  laborers  in  the  field,  these 
soldiers  in  the  very  front  trenches,  con- 
demned to  underground  prisons  for  month 
after  month? 

These  were  the  questions  which  we  put  to 
ourselves,  not  without  a  little  fear,  wonder- 
ing if  this  first  trip  would  leave  us  with  the 


36  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

rising  spectre  of  German  domination  or  con- 
vinced of  the  unshaken  determination  of  a 
republican  nation  to  survive  or  perish,  proud 
and  unafraid. 

Already  the  sense  of  something  new  was 
about  us.  In  every  village  was  the  repeated 
military  note — the  silent,  grim  concentra- 
tion of  reserves,  territorial  battalions  return- 
ing from  a  day's  work,  a  house  spattered  with 
shrapnel  holes,  a  broken  wall  here,  and  next 
to  it  a  wall  that  was  once  a  house ;  and  among 
all  these  quiet,  uniformed  crowds  women 
and  children,  clinging  to  their  homes,  at  their 
daily  work,  unterrified.  As  village  after 
village  succeeded,  quiet  and  unamazed,  I 
could  not  contain  my  astonishment  at  the 
fullness  of  the  civilian  activity. 

"How  far  are  we  from  the  front?"  I  asked 
our  guide,  Captain  X. 

"Ten  kilometers." 

"And  the  women  and  the  children  are  still 
here?" 


THE  PROFANATION  OF  RHEIMS     37 

"Wait,"  he  said,  with  a  smile.  "Later 
you  will  see  something  very  curious.  Now 
look— Rheims!" 

From  the  crest  of  the  final  hill  a  great, 
flat  panorama  spread  out.  In  the  distance, 
to  the  left,  above  a  herding  of  houses,  some- 
thing bleached,  deformed,  and  bleak  towered 
over  desolate  Rheims — the  desecrated  cathe- 
dral. Along  the  rolling  horizon  faint 
lines  chalked  against  the  green  extended 
mile  on  mile,  as  far  as  the  eye  was  free  to 
see. 

"The  trenches,  French  and  German." 

I  continued  to  stare  at  them,  incredulous 
that  there,  in  the  spread  of  the  quiet  June 
day,  lay  such  petty  scars  of  the  immense 
deadlock  that  ran  from  Switzerland  to  the 
sea.  Yet  these  far-off,  almost  indistinguish- 
able earthy  scratches  somehow  changed  the 
import  of  the  sky.  I  began  to  understand 
the  feeling  of  ominous  quiet  which  had  been 
gaining  on  me,  the  feeling  of  something  un- 


38  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

usual  about  to  take  place,  the  quiet  that  per- 
vades a  village  on  the  eve  of  a  holiday  or  a 
city  during  the  funeral  of  a  great  man. 

A  moment  to  pay  our  respects  to  the  Gen- 
eral in  command  of  the  sector,  General  X., 
gaunt,  silent,  as  most  of  the  leaders  whom  we 
saw — all  soldier  and  nothing  else;  and  we 
were  off  again  for  a  birdseye  view  of  the 
sweeping  battle  front.  Only  now,  as  we 
were  in  reach  of  the  German  guns,  we  left 
the  main  road  and  crowded  through  alleys, 
that  were  never  meant  for  our  rude  shock. 
Again  the  feeling  stole  over  us  of  hiding 
from  some  one — some  one  unseen  but  alert 
— the  feeling  of  being  watched,  constantly 
watched,  by  some  one,  somewhere. 

The  cars  stopped  under  safe  shelter,  and 
we  went  forward  for  the  view  to  Chateau 
X.  Our  officers  conferred  and  decided  that 
we  should  remain  on  the  esplanade.  We 
could  have  gone  up  into  the  upper  stories, 
but  it  was  not  very  safe.  The  precaution 


THE  PROFANATION  OF  RHEIMS     39 

seemed  a  little  excessive.  It  is  true  that  we 
had  passed  a  great,  ugly,  gaping  hole  at  the 
foot  of  the  terrace,  lately  made  by  one  shell; 
but  even  then  it  did  not  seem  possible  that 
our  presence  could  be  noticed  at  such  a  dis- 
tance. Later  on  we  hastily  revised  this 
judgment.  A  screen  of  trees  protected  us. 
We  looked  out,  adjusting  our  field  glasses. 
Rheims  was  a  little  nearer,  and  yet  only  a 
spot  in  the  great  plain.  The  green  land, 
like  the  green  sea,  spread  out  to  the  horizon, 
where  it  rolled  up  into  a  long,  undulating 
surf.  Through  our  glasses,  the  ugly,  chalky 
scars  came  out  of  the  west,  and  traveled  east- 
ward, for  all  the  world  like  pipe  drains. 
Other  communicating  trenches  came  wrig- 
gling down  the  hills,  boyaux,  through  which 
at  night  men  would  come  stealthily  down; 
the  shifting  guard ;  the  provision  carriers ;  or 
the  wounded  returning  on  stretchers  to  the 
back.  We  looked,  unable  to  comprehend  it, 
greedily  seeking  some  sign  of  life,  one  hu- 


40  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

man  touch  to  visualize  what  we  knew  must  be 
there.  I  turned  to  X. 

"How  many  men  are  there,  both  sides,  in 
all  that  we  can  see?" 

"Seventy  to  eighty  thousand." 

Eighty  thousand  men  before  our  eyes, 
swallowed  up  by  the  earth,  relentlessly 
locked  in  fratricidal  hatred! 

"And  shall  we  be  taken  there?" 

"To-morrow  morning." 

"Into  the  very  front  trenches?" 

"The  very  front,  yes,"  he  answered  with 
a  smile. 

That  gave  us  a  thrill. 

"Always  as  calm  as  this?"  said  one  officer 
to  another. 

"Nearly  always.  But  then,  of  course,  it 
may  break  out  at  any  time." 

That  meant  calm  in  a  military  sense,  of 
course — only  a  score  of  distant  shots  in  the 
brief  moments  we  were  there — a  score  of 
white  clouds  suddenly  released;  sections  of 


earth  and  human  beings,  perhaps,  flung 
pell-mell  into  the  quiet  of  the  calm  June 
day. 

What  fighting  there  was  went  on  with 
hand  grenades  or  bombs  out  of  a  trench 
mortar.  Rifle  fire  in  this  warfare  plays 
small  part;  cartridges  are  all  very  well  for 
machine  guns,  but  for  men,  hand  grenades 
and  the  long  steel.  From  this  spectacle  we 
looked  down  on  a  more  incredible  one.  Be- 
low, in  the  full  sweep  of  the  firing  zone,  regi- 
mented fields  of  heavy  vines  extended  two- 
thirds  of  the  way  to  the  front,  dotted  with 
occasional  huts  and  a  note  of  moving  cattle 
and  directly  in  front  of  us,  a  hundred  dresses 
— women  moving  among  green  things ! 

"What!  They  work  here,  they  dare  to?" 
I  exclaimed. 

Captain  X.  nodded. 

"When  a  bombardment  begins,  they  lie 
down  on  their  stomachs.  When  it's  over, 
they  get  up  and  go  on  with  their  work.  You 


42  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

get  used  to  all  things.  Certain  batteries 
have  habits,  like  men;  they  fire  at  certain 
hours,  a  certain  number  of  shots.  They  get 
to  know  them.  They  adjust  their  life  to  it, 
that's  all.  There  is  no  lack  of  courage  there. 
Occasionally  one  is  killed." 

We  went  back  by  the  hole  that  a  shell  had 
torn  into  the  ground.  It  had  a  different 
look  already — a  rather  disagreeable  and  im- 
pressive hole,  big  as  the  entrance  to  a  cave. 

"Quite  a  hole." 

Captain  X.  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"The  best  about  it  is,  when  one  lands,  you 
won't  know  it." 

Later  on,  we  were  to  learn  from  personal 
observation  what  such  explosions  could 
mean. 

On  the  way  to  Rheims  there  was  a  bad 
bit  of  road  to  pass,  under  direct  exposure  to 
the  German  batteries,  so  that  we  were  cau- 
tioned to  keep  well  apart.  A  few  days  be- 
fore, I  had  lunched  with  the  Minister  of  Fine 


THE  PROFANATION  OF  RHEIMS      43 

Arts,  and  he  had  spoken  bitterly  of  how 
powerless  he  was  to  prevent  the  work  of 
desecration.  He  had  not  even  dared  to  erect 
scaffolding,  in  order  to  remove  the  few  frag- 
ments of  treasured  stained-glass  windows 
that  remained,  relics  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
priceless  as  jewels,  for  fear  the  Germans 
would  completely  demolish  the  Cathedral 
under  pretext  that  the  French  were  using  it 
as  a  point  of  observation.  He  asked  me  to 
note  for  myself  the  absurdity  of  their  con- 
tention that  the  cathedral  had  served  as  a 
shield  for  cannon. 

Despite  every  precaution  to  remove  these 
monuments  from  the  slightest  suspicion  of 
military  utility,  the  Hotel  du  Ville  at  Arras 
was  now  a  crumbling  mass  of  ruins ;  the  ca- 
thedral at  Soissons  under  implacable  bom- 
bardment equally  doomed;  while  at  Rheims 
not  a  week  passed  without  a  scattering  of 
shells.  Nothing  has  sown  more  bitterness 
in  the  French  mind  than  this  incomprehensi- 


44  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

ble  destruction  of  the  treasured  monuments 
of  the  past.  A  thousand  men  dying  under 
the  barbarism  of  asphyxiating  gases  are 
nothing  to  burning  Rheims  and  Soissons; 
for  what  is  being  destroyed  there  is  France 
itself. 

Sentries  began  to  multiply,  springing 
from  every  intersection  of  the  road,  out  of 
every  cluster  of  houses.  A  quick-flung 
countersign  as  we  sped  on,  with  only  a  mo- 
mentary slackening,  the  last  long  exposed 
stretch  of  road,  a  final  burst  of  speed,  and 
we  entered  the  city  by  the  Vesle  Canal,  pass- 
ing gingerly  over  a  temporary  bridge.  To 
our  right,  half  a  dozen  canal  boats,  sunk  by 
shell  fire,  were  turned  lumberingly  on  their 
sides.  Dozens  of  others,  herded  together, 
seemed  like  leviathans  awaiting  destruction. 
But  for  this  reminder,  we  would  hardly  have 
known  that  we  were  in  a  city  every  portion 
of  which  was  in  the  firing  zone.  Life  was 
everywhere,  shops  open,  people  moving  bus- 


THE  PROFANATION  OF  RHEIMS     45 

ily  and  unconcernedly,  unexcited  and  re- 
signed. 

Again,  out  of  precaution,  we  left  the  cars 
and  proceeded  on  foot.  Suddenly,  ahead, 
down  a  long,  deserted  street,  strangely 
hushed,  the  front  facade  of  the  cathedral  ap- 
peared. Grass  had  overgrown  the  cobbled 
approach,  every  window  was  shattered,  on 
every  wall  sprinkled  scars  of  shrapnel  and 
gaping  holes ;  the  desolation  so  complete,  in 
the  air  such  a  hollow  stillness,  that  it  seemed 
as  though  a  cyclone  had  passed. 

At  first  sight  the  cathedral  came  to  us  as 
a  surprise.  Architecturally  it  seemed  un- 
harmed. Only  when  we  entered  the  square, 
under  the  looming  shadow  of  the  great  fa- 
9ade,  buttressed  with  logs  and  sand  bags  to 
the  height  of  forty  feet,  did  we  realize  the 
devastation  of  the  bombardment  and  con- 
flagration, the  effect  of  some  suspended  body 
that  at  a  distance  still  shows  a  human  out- 
line and  which  only  on  approaching  you  per- 


46  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

ceive  is  a  corpse  horribly  incinerated,  a  skull 
under  a  hat,  hideous  and  yawning. 

For  the  first  time,  gazing  at  the  white  cal- 
cined walls  and  the  broken  statues,  we  com- 
prehended the  mutilation  that  has  been 
wrought  across  that  fairy  screen;  a  once 
transcendingly  beautiful  face,  robbed  of  its 
beauty  by  a  cowardly  dash  of  vitriol.  In- 
side the  impression  deepened.  No  photo- 
graphs can  adequately  visualize  what  has 
been  wrought. 

The  great  roof,  reduced  to  ashes,  had 
broken  through  the  vault  in  spots;  an  inte- 
rior stripped  bare;  two- thirds  of  the  great 
stained-glass  windows,  the  pride  of  centu- 
ries, reduced  to  dust.  A  vast  profanation 
had  been  wrought ;  something  that  these  an- 
cient, mellow  windows  held  from  a  ruder 
world  fled  forever,  a  whole  history  gone— 
the  spirit  of  the  Middle  Ages,  the  heart  of 
France,  the  France  of  Jeanne  d'Arc,  with 
the  pomp  of  Kings  and  ancient  legends! 


47 

Rheims,  as  a  living  echo  of  the  past,  is  gone. 
What  remains  is  only  a  monument. 

Yet  to-day  there  is  an  ever-present  danger 
that  this  monument,  too,  will  disappear. 
For  the  cathedral  is  under  intermittent  bom- 
bardment, as  we  were  to  learn  by  actual  ex- 
perience. It  is  completely  at  the  mercy  of 
the  enemy,  who  seems  to  vent  his  irritation 
in  constant  brutal  reminders;  who  can  de- 
stroy it  utterly  in  an  hour,  whenever  a  forced 
retreat  should  rouse  in  him  the  passion  of  a 
last  vengeance.  Black  as  has  been  the  stain 
upon  the  pages  of  history  of  this  desecra- 
tion performed,  Heaven  grant  that  the  final 
chapter  may  not  be  the  willful  and  futile 
blotting  out  of  the  ornamented  past,  as  the 
conqueror  has  done  at  Arras  and  is  doing  at 
Soissons!  As  for  military  excuse,  it  would 
be  as  practical  to  place  batteries  here  to  shell 
the  German  lines  as  to  station  cannon  in 
Wall  Street  for  a  bombardment  of  Harlem. 

No  one  who  has  visited  Rheims  can  have 


48  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

the  slightest  illusion  as  to  the  original  delib- 
erate intent  of  the  Germans  to  reach  and  de- 
stroy the  cathedral.  The  ruined  quarters 
run  as  ruthlessly  and  mathematically  in  the 
line  of  the  German  batteries  to  the  cathedral 
and  stop  at  that  apex  as  though  they  had 
been  razed  by  a  giant  scythe. 

If  the  colossal  massiveness  of  the  cathe- 
dral walls  has  saved  the  shell,  the  buildings 
at  its  side  have  been  literally  blown  to  pieces 
— the  Palace  of  the  Archeveque,  with  its  his- 
toric Hall  of  the  Kings.  So  complete  was 
the  spectacle  of  disemboweled  houses  and 
naked  walls  revealing  strange,  profane  inti- 
macies, that  whole  districts  seemed  to  have 
fallen  down  like  the  walls  of  Jericho  at  a  sin- 
gle trump.  We  passed  through  street  after 
street,  littered  with  crumbling  blocks,  show- 
ers of  glass,  shreds  of  curtains.  We  peered 
down,  not  blocks  but  regions  of  ruins,  in  ex- 
aggerated distances,  as  tree  trunks  multi- 
ply the  idea  of  depth.  The  destruction  was 


*  I 


THE  STATUE  OF  JP:ANNE  n'ARc,  UNSCAL-HED  DURING  THE 

BOMBARDMKNT,    PROTECTING    THE    BASE    OF 
THK    CATHEDRAL    AT    R.HEIMS. 


THE  PROFANATION  OF  RHEIMS     49 

too  complete,  the  human  note  so  entirely 
banished,  that  we  seemed  to  be  looking 
rather  on  a  cataclysm  of  nature  that  had  cer- 
tain grandiose  elements — a  modern  Pom- 
peii. 

Yet,  strangest  of  all,  we  had  but  to  cross 
the  street  to  find  life  going  on  as  usual;  fam- 
ilies, with  the  spectacle  of  havoc  and  desola- 
tion at  their  ringer  tips,  clinging  to  their 
homes  with  a  strange  fatalism  we  were  to 
find  everywhere,  a  belief  unshaken  in  human 
hope,  that  the  forces  of  death  and  destruc- 
tion that  play  about  them  are  destined  for 
others  and  not  themselves,  a  feeling  that  in- 
creases with  each  escape.  The  children 
even  share  this  strange  contempt  for  des- 
tiny. The  moment  a  shell  falls  they  rush 
from  their  cellars  in  a  scramble  for  the  cov- 
eted trophy.  Many  are  killed  thus,  with- 
out the  slightest  effect  upon  the  others. 

A  desultory  cannonading  was  going  on, 
far  off,  but  still  filling  the  air  with  its  weird 


50  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRAUCE 

* 

electricity  to  our  unaccustomed  ears,  re- 
minding us  that  this  was  not  a  record  of  the 
past,  but  the  ominous  menace  of  the  pres- 
ent. The  spectacle  of  children  at  play,  run- 
ning at  their  games  down  the  distant  rav- 
aged vistas,  or  staring  out  at  us  from  under- 
ground quarters  with  queer  little  rat-like 
faces,  was  an  incongruous  note.  What  a 
strange,  distorted  conception  of  the  universe 
must  lodge  in  these  growing  minds,  trained 
in  the  daily  spectacle  of  death,  beginning 
their  amazing  voyages  in  the  mysterious 
fairyland  of  knowledge  in  goblin  schools  in 
underground  cellars !  For  school,  like  every 
other  activity,  must  go  on,  even  twenty  feet 
below  the  surface  of  the  earth,  in  caverns 
from  which  the  rats  and  vermin  are  momen- 
tarily expelled  by  the  flicker  of  oily  lamps. 
The  instinct  for  life  is  indeed  so  strong 
that  it  returns  to  constant  conflict  with  the 
forces  of  death  and  devastation,  just  as  ob- 
stinate, just  as  greedy.  A  block  that  has 


THE  PROFANATION  OF  RHEIMS      51 

been  shelled  a  week  before  is  to-day  occu- 
pied, swarming  with  life.  A  great  dry 
goods  store,  with  the  upper  floors  blown 
away,  bedraggled  curtains  drifting  through 
the  shattered  windows,  had  reopened; 
women  in  sombre  dress,  defiant  and  reckless, 
at  the  counters  serving  the  same  returning 
customers.  Among  these  indomitable 
scouts  in  the  army  of  life  I  remember  an 
old  woman,  still  selling  her  postcards  at  a 
shop  that  a  miracle  had  spared.  Gazing  out 
from  the  quiet  door  at  the  rolling  torrent  of 
broken  walls  and  scattered  masonry  I  asked, 
amazed : 

"What,  are  you  not  afraid?" 

"Afraid?  What  is  the  use,  monsieur? 
After  all,  death  is  an  experience  you  do  not 
have  to  go  through  twice." 

We  left  in  time  to  return  to  our  headquar- 
ters, with  a  feeling  of  leaving  a  life  that  we 
could  not  comprehend  in  the  least.  It 
seemed  as  though  we  had  not  been  visiting 


52  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

Rheims  of  today,  but  Rheims  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  when  war  was  an  accepted  state  of 
existence,  and  women  and  children  were 
taught  to  look  more  steadily  and  stoically 
into  the  face  of  death  than  we  moderns,  who 
organize  our  existence  in  an  almost  fanati- 
cal disbelief  that  life  can  end,  always  sur- 
prised and  frightened  when  the  spectacle  ob- 
trudes. 

From  Rheims  to  Epernay  we  passed  sev- 
eral villages  partly  destroyed  by  the  Ger- 
mans in  their  terrorizing  tactics  of  invasion, 
particularly  Marfaux,  where  the  Germans 
had  set  fire  to  everything,  under  the  pretext 
that  an  aviator  had  been  shot  by  the  inhabi- 
tants. 

From  Marfaux  we  continued  until  over 
the  hills  Epernay  sprang  into  view,  a  mag- 
nificent panorama  of  vineyards  and  slopes 
— Epernay,  where,  a  little  to  the  south, 
Foch,  at  the  memorable  battle  of  the  Marne, 
flung  his  army  between  von  Biielow  and  von 


THE  PROFANATION  OF  RHEIMS     53 

Haussen  and  crumpled  the  Germans  up,  in 
the  most  brilliant  operation  of  the  war. 

"No  wonder  the  Germans  want  such  a 
country  as  that,"  said  Captain  X.,  grimly, 
as  we  stopped  for  a  moment  to  view  the  spec- 
tacle. 

We  found  ourselves  quartered  in  a  little 
hotel  of  the  third  class — a  hotel  for  com- 
mercial travelers.  We  asked  our  landlady 
about  the  Germans.  They  behaved  very 
well,  it  seems.  They  drank  up  all  the  wine 
and  paid  for  nothing,  but  for  Germans  they 
were  quite  exceptional. 

Benoit,  the  boots,  had  a  story  to  tell  us. 
He  was  at  Rheims  during  the  German  oc- 
cupation, attached  to  a  hotel  where  the  of- 
ficers were  quartered.  .On  the  night  before 
the  evacuation  they  drank  up  everything 
they  could  lay  their  hands  to.  Two  officers, 
a  Major  and  a  Captain,  too  drunk  to  ac- 
company the  rest,  were  left  in  his  care,  with 
orders  to  be  called  at  5  o'clock.  At  4  o'clock 


54  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

they  were  up,  astonishingly  sober,  and  in  a 
hurry,  quite  frightened  at  the  news  that  the 
city  had  been  evacuated  during  the  night. 
Without  waiting  for  breakfast,  they  started 
down  the  street.  A  pony  cart,  carrying  a 
man  and  his  wife  suspected  of  German  lean- 
ings, and  equally  in  a  hurry  to  escape, 
crossed  their  path.  Despite  protestations, 
the  officers  forced  them  to  dismount,  and, 
taking  their  places,  started  across  the  square. 
Midway  a  volley  rang  out,  as  a  detachment 
of  Zouaves  burst  from  cover.  The  horse 
and  the  commander  were  killed  instantly. 
The  Captain,  horribly  wounded,  cried  from 
his  knees: 

"Pardon,  camarades,  I  have  three  chil- 
dren; pardon." 

With  which  grim  detail  in  mind,  we  went 
to  bed. 

We  were  back  at  Rheims  by  8  o'clock  the 
next  morning.  Shortly  before,  the  Ger- 
mans had  bombarded  the  cathedral  with  five 


THE  PROFANATION  OF  RHEIMS      55 

shells.  Before  going  forward,  we  were 
taken  back  of  the  cathedral  to  witness  a  hole 
made  by  a  German  155,  which  had  landed  in 
a  garden  scarcely  thirty  feet  from  a  flying 
buttress.  It  had  fallen  an  hour  before  our 
arrival,  and  the  street  where  we  stood  was 
covered  with  its  fragments,  two  of  which  I 
picked  up  and  brought  back  with  me. 

"But  why  should  they  bombard  it  now?" 
I  asked,  at  loss. 

Our  guide  laughed,  shrugging  his  should- 
ers. The  ways  of  the  Germans  are  incom- 
prehensible to  the  French  mind,  but  they 
fit  their  own  reasons  to  them. 

"We  took  a  line  of  trenches  from  them, 
probably,  toward  Arras  or  in  the  Vosges; 
that — or  too  much  beer." 


IN  THE  TRENCHES 


CHAPTER  III 

IN   THE   TRENCHES 

WE  started  for  the  village  of  Beth- 
eny,  which  lies  in  front  of  Rheims, 
like  an  island  in  a  sea  of  fire,  joined  to  the 
city  by  three  kilometers  of  long,  winding 
communication  trenches  or  boyaux.  Grad- 
ually the  houses  thinned  out;  marks  of  re- 
cent bombardments  began  to  appear — a 
wall  rent  asunder,  a  heap  of  stones  prone 
across  our  path. 

The  cannonading  approached  nearer, 
with  a  new,  personal  significance.  We  saw 
no  more  civilians,  but  instead,  at  every  cor- 
ner, sentinels  carefully  masked.  The  broad 
highway  to  Betheny  lay  straight  ahead  and 
deserted.  Even  before  we  left  the  outskirts 
of  Rheims,  we  had  disappeared  into  a  pro- 
tecting boyau.  About  six  feet  deep  at  first, 


60  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

it  continued  to  sink  into  the  yellow,  oozing 
earth,  until  the  top  soil  rose  above  our  heads. 
Sprays  of  clover,  coarse  grasses  with  occa- 
sional ruddy  splashes  of  poppies,  brushed 
our  faces,  as  we  traveled  as  the  insects  travel, 
our  feet  splashing  through  occasional  pools 
of  water,  the  boyau  turning  and  twisting, 
wriggling  on  in  serpentine  coils. 

"Why  don't  they  run  straight  ahead?"  I 
asked. 

Captain  X.,  who  took  a  military  delight  in 
enjoying  the  sensations  of  civilians,  called 
back  cheerily: 

"It  winds  so  that  if  a  shell  lands  in  the 
boyau  it  can't  get  more  than  a  few — some 
of  us  will  get  out." 

This  was  a  great  comfort  and  we  passed 
the  word  back. 

The  boyau  led  through  mounds  and  cel- 
lars, out  through  the  last  refuse  heaps,  and 
once  in  the  open  country,  deepened  and  wid- 
ened. We  were  eight  feet  below  the  high- 


IN  THE  TRENCHES  61 

way,  running  parallel  to  it,  always  in  a 
snaky,  twisting  course.  By  our  side  the 
trees  that  lined  the  road  were  barked  and 
split,  broken  and  twisted  by  shells,  the  foli- 
age singed  by  the  iron  passage.  We  crossed 
under  railroad  ties  and  fell  into  a  maze  of 
avenues  and  cross  streets,  all  scrupulously 
inscribed:  "Alice  to  the  Tenth  Division," 
"Direction  of  the  Fourth  Battalion,"  etc. — 
very  much  like  the  ambitious  plotting  out 
of  a  great  land  speculation.  An  occasional 
glimpse  at  the  nearing  enemy,  lifting  our 
heads  cautiously  over  the  banks,  parting  the 
grasses  to  gaze  at  slopes  where  German  bat- 
teries are  stationed  at  Brimont  to  the  right 
and  at  Viry  to  the  left,  near  enough  to  show 
their  clustered  wicked  lines  of  barbed  wire, 
and  we  reached  the  shelter  of  a  banked  rail- 
road. 

"Attention!  'Open  space,"  called  back 
our  guide.  "Cross  quickly  in  twos  and 
threes." 


62 

We  passed  alertly  over  an  open  space  of 
twenty  yards  to  the  security  of  the  next 
boyau,  a  little  incredulously.  Shells  were 
booming  to  the  left,  around  Brimont.  Cap- 
tain X.  pointed  to  a  German  stationary  bal- 
loon straight  ahead. 

"Lucky  if  they  don't  see  us  and  warm  us 
up  later." 

We  met  a  group  of  soldiers  returning 
with  shells  and  picks,  who  answered  our 
greetings  gayly,  as  though  welcoming  this 
evidence  of  the  outer  world.  Lines  of 
trenches  appeared,  carefully  prepared 
against  all  eventualities,  with  thick  barb 
wire  entanglements  in  front.  In  the  dis- 
tance roofs,  or  rather  what  had  been  roofs, 
rose  above  the  grasses.  Another  warning, 
another  quick  break  through  the  open,  and 
we  were  at  last  in  the  village  of  Betheny. 
For  the  first  time  war  was  an  actual  fact. 

Ahead  of  us  the  village  ran  straight  on  for 
a  mile,  camped  on  either  side  of  the  cobble 


ORGANIZATION  OK  A  CAPTURED  VILLAGE. 


WOUNDED  BROUGHT  BACK  THROUGH  COMMUNICATION  TRENCH. 

Note  depth  and  the   way  the  grasses  overhang. 


OBSERVATION  POST  IN  AISNE  VALLEY. 


THE  AISNE  BATTLEFIELD.    ARTILLERY  ENCAMPMENT. 


IN  THE  TRENCHES  63 

street.  Everything  above  our  heads  was  torn 
to  shreds,  roofs  sagging  and  lurching  to  the 
ground,  mere  flimsy  skeletons,  stripped  of 
shingles.  Everything  below  our  eyes  was 
organized  with  mathematical  exactness. 
Barricades  of  cobble  stones  broke  up  the 
straight  line  of  the  road  every  thirty  yards. 
Every  courtyard,  every  room,  was  but- 
tressed with  symmetrical  rows  of  sand  bags 
bristling  with  preparations  that  in  case  of 
assault  would  turn  every  room  into  a  for- 
tress. A  strange  contrast,  this:  above,  dev- 
astation and  ragged  masonry;  below,  pre- 
cision and  order. 

Lieutenant  X.,  a  short,  wiry  little  man, 
working  as  if  on  springs — "L'Homme  Elec- 
trique,"  as  the  soldiers  had  named  him — 
took  us  in  charge.  We  crossed  a  score  of 
fortresses,  where  yesterday  had  been  peace- 
ful homes.  Every  foot  had  been  fought 
over,  taken  and  retaken,  until  the  ultimate 
mastery.  In  every  courtyard,  through 


64  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

every  open  door,  were  detachments  of  Chas- 
seurs-a-pieds,  lounging  at  rest,  ready,  alert, 
and  waiting.  The  atmosphere  had  some- 
thing of  the  charged,  slumbering  intensity 
which  marks  the  interior  of  a  great  news- 
paper office,  where  any  moment  of  the  night 
or  day  a  clicking  of  the  wire  may  galvanize 
every;  energy  with  the  news  of  a  great  disas- 
ter. 

An  occasional  phonograph  trumpeted  a 
military  march.  A  sound  of  rollicking 
voices  surprised  us.  We  stopped  to  inves- 
tigate. Two  soldiers  on  a  platform  were 
rehearsing  a  cabaret  song  for  the  evening's 
entertainment.  Against  the  wall  a  great 
placard  announced: 

"CASINO  DE  BETHENY 

PROGRAM  FOR  SATURDAY 

NIGHT." 

At  the  next  turn  the  tangled  ruins  of  what 
once  had  been  the  village  church  were  lit- 


IN  THE  TRENCHES  65 

erally  spilled  across  the  square.  Inside  was 
the  cure,  in  black  surplice,  bearded  and 
bronzed,  a  militant,  ascetic  type  of  mission- 
ary, clinging  indomitably  to  his  duty. 
What  a  havoc  within!  The  roof  had  gone 
first;  next>  the  north  wall;  then  the  west 
one. 

The  altar  had  been  moved  from  corner  to 
corner,  until  now  it  had  found  a  cramped 
resting  place  under  the  last  fragment  of  ceil- 
ing, in  a  little  region  cleared  among  the 
sprawling  debris,  while  great  rents  opened 
outward  into  the  blue  sky.  Still  mass  went 
on ;  still  the  altar  was  crowded  with  flowers, 
under  a  crude  colored  lithograph  of  the 
Apostle  of  Peace.  We  stood  reverently 
reading  the  inscription,  "The  Heart  of 
Jesus  will  save  France."  The  cure  stood, 
nodding  and  smiling,  at  our  side.  I  do  not 
think  he  saw  anything  heroic  or  unusual  in 
the  spectacle  that  thrilled  us.  To  have  told 
him  what  we  felt  would  have  seemed  an 


66  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

impertinence,  in  the  simplicity  of  this  con- 
secrated life.  We  went  on. 

We  reached  the  front  houses — advance 
posts  for  the  sharpshooters — hearing  for  the 
first  time  the  angry,  stinging  sound  of  bul- 
lets swarming  above  us.  I  climbed  up  and 
gazed  through  a  carefully  screened  aper- 
ture at  the  German  trenches  now  scarcely 
a  hundred  meters  away.  What  a  desert! 
Men  might  be  there,  herded  behind  those 
impassive  lines  of  dirt,  but  the  prevailing 
sense  was  of  a  vast  loneliness.  And  war  has 
come  to  this :  to  deal  death  and  to  receive  it, 
and  to  see  nothing! 

Cautioned  to  speak  in  whispers,  we  went 
more  quietly  toward  the  very  front  trenches, 
winding  through  boyaux  that  were  deeper 
and  cleaner,  with  yawning  holes  descending 
into  bomb-proof  shelters.  All  at  once  we 
were  at  our  destination;  a  picket  standing 
erect  and  vigilant,  neither  turning  nor  mov- 
ing a  muscle  at  our  approach,  glance  im- 


IN  THE  TRENCHES  67 

movably  set  through  an  observation  hole  at 
the  German  trenches  fifty  meters  away. 
Above  was  a  heavy  covering  of  sand  bags, 
and  within  this  long,  coffin-like  structure  a 
dozen  men  were  lined,  in  silent  waiting,  on  a 
bench,  above  each  a  charged  rifle,  resting  at 
position.  The  only  view  into  the  outer 
world  was  a  narrow  slit,  scarcely  a  foot  high, 
commanding  the  broken,  shaggy  field  and 
the  cruel  rows  of  barbed  wire  entanglements. 
Beside  each  man  was  a  prepared  mask  for 
protection  against  poisonous  gases,  and  near 
by  stores  of  hand  grenades. 

Beyond  we  passed  into  a  chamber  pre- 
pared for  a  machine  gun,  a  marvel  of  se- 
cret, midnight  construction,  undistinguished 
in  the  long,  flat  line,  the  aperture  protected 
by  a  green  canvas,  which  was  raised  only  at 
night.  We  entered  several  advance  posts. 
Across  the  disheveled,  overgrown  fields  the 
looming  German  trenches  circled  around  the 
brave  little  village  of  Betheny,  like  some 


68  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

monstrous  boa  constrictor  coiled  to  strangle 
it  in  its  embrace.  A  brave  little  village, 
jauntily  defying  its  enemies! 

Leaving  the  front  trenches  we  returned 
to  the  village  for  a  more  intimate  examina- 
tion, winding  from  court  to  court,  surpris- 
ing groups  at  luncheon.  At  our  approach 
a  running  fire  of  command  rang  out : 

"A  vos  rangs  I    Fixe !" 

In  a  second  every  chasseur  was  at  atten- 
tion, straight  as  an  arrow,  chin  in  the  air, 
bearded  as  the  lion's  tufts  fall  from  the 
maw,  glance  fixed,  hand  open  and  flung 
out  from  the  temple  like  a  flag  in  the 
breeze. 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  proud  fierceness 
of  the  chasseur s-a-pieds  of  Betheny.  In  all 
the  troops  I  saw  I  think  they  were  the  finest 
human  beings  I  have  ever  known — men 
whom  it  was  good  to  have  met  and  to  remem- 
ber. There  was  something  savage  and  fe- 
line in  their  eyes,  a  look  of  wild  animals 


IN  THE  TRENCHES  69 

startled  out  of  their  rest.  Explosions  in  the 
air  seemed  to  have  brought  explosions  in 
their  souls,  too,  that  blazed  forth  in  their 
glances.  And  with  it  all  there  was  some- 
thing very  pure  and  reverent  about  them,  a 
feeling  of  consecration  to  a  noble  ideal. 
They  seemed  to  live  in  an  exalted  atmos- 
phere, something  absolutely  divorced  from 
the  world — the  futile  world  back  into  which 
we  were  forced  to  return — in  that  state  of 
grace  which  is  the  preparation  of  a  soul  for 
its  final  answer  to  the  Almighty. 

They  say  that  men  live  thus  from  month 
to  month  and  forget  everything  of  their  past 
life;  that  they  even  resent  the  intrusion  of 
earthly  reminders.  Seeing  what  we  saw, 
we  could  easily  believe  it.  In  fact,  to  ex- 
perience this  life  leaves  an  abiding  fascina- 
tion, the  longing  to  return  to  this  consecra- 
tion, so  full  of  meaning  and  significance  in 
comparison  to  the  selfishness  of  individual 
ambitions.  For  many  days  after  we  were 


70 

conscious  of  this  craving,  as  though  for  a 
rarer  and  more  stimulating  ether. 

Commandant  X.,  a  hero  of  the  African 
wars,  and  Lieutenant  X. — his  very  presence 
seemed  to  charge  the  atmosphere  with  elec- 
tricity— passed  ahead  of  us,  smiling  and 
proud,  acknowledging  the  salutes  with  an 
invariable  "Bon  jour,  mes  poilus,"  and  the 
answer,  returned  in  an  affectionate  outburst, 
"Bon  jour,  mon  Commandant."  Only 
those  who  have  passed  among  them  and 
known  the  absolute  and  unassumed  frater- 
nity, the  affection  between  officer  and  sol- 
dier as  between  a  father  and  a  son,  can  un- 
derstand the  possessive  affection  of  that 


'mon." 


We  continued  our  winding  progress.  At 
every  turn  little  plots  of  flowers  brightened 
the  eye;  an  occasional  mascot,  treasured  in 
a  cage;  a  sudden  playground,  with  soldiers 
turning  on  a  bar  or  measuring  their  agility 
in  jumps;  then  a  moment's  pause  at  the 


IN  THE  TRENCHES  71 

Theatre  of  Betheny  (evidently  a  rival  to 
the  Casino),  with  a  piano,  a  stage,  and  foot- 
lights, even  to  a  dressing  room,  with  a  prized 
mirror.  A  soldier,  a  noted  vaudeville  head- 
liner,  evidently,  gave  us  an  exhibition  of 
feats  of  strength,  lifting  a  comrade  with  one 
arm,  etc. 

We  continued  our  tortuous,  bewildering 
progress,  past  straw-strewn  rooms  and 
ready  holes  through  which  to  dive  into  the 
bowels  of  the  earth  at  a  warning  screech. 
For  death  is  ever  present  at  Betheny — 
poised  in  the  unrevealing  air.  In  the  midst 
of  a  quiet  day  at  luncheon,  in  the  midst  of 
a  hymn  at  church,  to  attend  which  is  more 
dangerous  perhaps  than  outpost  duty  itself, 
a  shell  may  come  tearing  through  the  air, 
and  the  rest — something  hideously  vacant  in 
the  earth,  and  a  dozen  lives  snuffed  out  of 
existence,  a  dozen  crude  wooden  crosses  to 
be  erected,  with  the  legend:  "To  our  com- 
rade, dead  on  the  field  of  honor." 


72  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

As  we  left  I  stopped  with  an  exclamation 
of  surprise.  Before  a  doorway  an  old 
woman  was  standing,  gazing  indifferently 
out,  one  of  fourteen  civilians  who  still  cling 
to  their  hearths  with  that  instinct  for  the 
home  which  is  deepest  in  the  French  nature. 
Captain  X.  questioned  her  at  my  request. 

"What,  you  are  not  afraid  to  stay  here?" 

"And  where  would  I  go?'* 

"To  Rheims,  of  course." 

"To  Rheims?  What  an  idea!  Never. 
It's  too  dangerous  over  there.  I  prefer  to 
stay  here." 

"Nothing  can  get  her  to  move,"  said  Cap- 
tain X.,  as  we  continued,  laughing.  "That 
is.  the  French  peasant,  all  over.  Nothing 
seems  to  them  so  safe  as  their  own  home." 

This  French  tolerance  of  the  passionate 
desire  of  the  people  to  cling  to  the  ancestral 
home  and  share  its  fate  has  many  drawbacks, 
chief  among  which  is  its  aid  to  the  thorough 
German  spy  system.  Hardly  a  change  of 


IN  THE  TRENCHES  73 

headquarters  in  Rheims  or  Arras  but  what 
it  is  accompanied  by  a  speedy  bombardment 
from  German  sources,  proving  the  celerity 
of  their  information.  Of  course,  in  the 
regions  of  the  batteries  civilians  are  rigor- 
ously excluded.  The  Germans,  on  their 
part,  have  forced  the  civilians  to  evacuate 
their  homes  for  five  miles  behind  the  battle 
lines. 

We  stopped  at  the  regimental  headquar- 
ters for  a  glass  of  champagne  with  the  mess. 
There,  while  the  glasses  were  clinking  and 
the  toast  passed,  "Good  luck  through  the 
war,"  a  new  acquaintance  told  me  the  story 
of  Lieutenant  X.,  who  had  so  gayly  con- 
ducted us  throughout  the  morning.  His 
family  were  caught  in  the  north,  and  lined 
up  against  the  wall  to  be  shot,  because  the 
youngest  child,  a  boy  of  seven,  had  hidden 
the  sword  of  his  father  when  the  order  had 
gone  forth  to  surrender  all  arms.  His  sis- 
ter, newly  married  and  about  to  become  a 


74  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

mother,  had  been  violated  by  the  Germans 
and  had  gone  mad. 

A  moment  later  Lieutenant  X.  happened 
to  raise  his  glass  to  mine.  For  the  first  time 
I  understood  what  had  been  puzzling  me, 
what  I  had  been  seeking  to  understand  un- 
der all  the  precise  and  military  alertness  of 
his  glance — the  look  in  his  eyes  of  feverish 
waiting  for  the  day  to  square  accounts. 

We  shook  hands  with  regret,  tearing  our- 
selves away  with  difficulty  from  this  rare 
glimpse  of  simplicity  and  exaltation. 

"By  George,  I  hate  to  think  anything 
can  happen  to  those  fellows!"  said  M.  to 
me. 

That  is  what  we  were  all  thinking. 

"All  ready?  Into  the  boyau  now, 
quickly,  two  at  a  time!"  said  Captain  X.,  in 
staccato  warning. 

The  first  two  had  barely  flitted  across  the 
open  space  and  disappeared  into  the  protect- 
ing trench  when  we  had  a  sharp  reminder 


IN  THE  TRENCHES  75 

of  the  vigilance  of  the  German  observation. 
A  long,  whining  screech,  and  then  an  ugly, 
rocking  explosion,  and  a  hundred  yards 
short,  but  in  a  direct  line,  a  nasty  brownish 
cloud  curled  up  from  the  field. 

"They  saw  us,  sure  enough,"  said  Captain 
X.  "I  knew  it.  They'll  warm  us  up  now. 
Quickly,  into  the  trench!" 

A  second  and  a  third  shell  followed  on 
the  first,  while  we  hastily  covered  the  open 
space  and  proceeded  briskly  toward  the 
more  complete  protection  of  the  farther 
trenches.  At  every  moment  now  the  same 
tearing,  traveling  sound,  and  a  command 
from  an  officer: 

"Down  in  the  trench — lower !  Don't  rise 
immediately  after  the  explosion — give  the 
pieces  a  good  second  to  scatter." 

Protected  as  we  were  in  the  narrow  boyau, 
a  shell  would  have  had  to  land  directly  on 
us  to  cause  any  damage.  Nevertheless,  it 
gave  us  a  curious  sensation  to  realize  that 


76  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

we  were  at  last  under  fire,  to  hear  each  whin- 
ing approach  and  to  know  that  each  shell 
might  be  a  near  or  far-off  problem.  They 
even  tried  us  with  shrapnel,  which  is  more 
dangerous,  as  it  bursts  about  thirty  feet  in 
the  air  and  can  sweep  a  trench  in  all  direc- 
tions. Luckily,  they  did  not  come  nearer 
to  us  than  fifty  yards,  which  was  quite 
enough  for  our  baptism  of  fire. 

We  got  back,  covered  with  mud,  after  a 
hasty  passage  under  the  railroad  bridge,  that 
now  had  to  us  a  new  significance,  a  realiza- 
tion of  danger.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  don't 
think,  in  this  first  experience  under  fire,  that 
any  of  us  had  the  sensation  of  fear  which  we 
had  expected.  The  warning  approach  and 
the  ultimate  explosion  were  certainly  dis- 
agreeably impressive,  but  we  were  still  too 
new  in  the  theatre  of  war  to  have  a  personal 
comprehension.  It  was  only  later,  at  Ar- 
ras, when  we  were  brought  into  intimate  con- 
tact with  all  the  hideousness  of  battle,  that 


IN  THE  TRENCHES  77 

we  could  realize  the  menace  of  these  fright- 
ful implements  of  death.  Personally,  I 
know  that  at  Rheims  I  was  a  little  disap- 
pointed, quits  for  acknowledging  freely  that 
later,  at  Notre  Dame  de  Lorette  and  Ablain 
St.  Nazaire,  I  experienced  a  sickening  hor- 
ror of  what  might  have  happened. 

Back  to  Rheims  for  luncheon,  where  we 
picked  up  Hale,  who  had  walked  off  with 
the  key  to  Rheims  Cathedral,  and  for  an 
hour  was  frantically  sought.  At  the  table 
the  stories  of  the  officers  ran  constantly  on 
instances  of  the  courage  and  devotion  of 
their  men — of  the  engineers  on  the  locomo- 
tives, in  the  long,  ceaseless  hours  of  the  mo- 
bilization, who  answered  an  inquiry  as  to 
their  strength,  after  thirty-six  hours  of  con- 
tinuous service,  with,  "Don't  mind  us;  we 
can  hold  out,  if  only  the  locomotives  can;" 
of  the  heroism  of  the  telegraphers,  of  whom 
so  little  is  reported,  who  charge  when  the 
troops  charge,  repairing  their  lines  con- 


78  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

stantly  under  the  hottest  fire,  ready  to  take 
any  risk;  of  a  regimental  cook,  a  stretcher 
bearer  in  time  of  need,  caught  between  the 
lines  on  his  errand  of  mercy  and  shot  down, 
who  continued  to  cry  "Vive  la  France!"  as 
each  German  cartridge  found  its  lodgment 
in  his  body,  flinging  back  his  indomitable  de- 
fiance, while  the  troops  listened  breathlessly 
in  their  trenches  until  the  last  volley  had 
brought  no  answer,  and  the  end. 

Among  these  men  the  Germans  were 
judged  severely,  the  more  convincingly  in 
that  they  were  as  generous  in  their  admira- 
tion of  their  enemy's  courage,  skill,  and 
unity.  It  is  impossible  to  talk  with  hun- 
dreds of  these  dispassionate  soldiers  with- 
out being  convinced  of  the  worst  that  has 
been  charged  against  the  German  Army, 
when  in  the  first  weeks  they  ran  wild  in 
obedience  to  a  carefully  calculated  cam- 
paign of  terrorism,  imposed  on  them  as  a 
theory  of  invasion  by  the  General  Staff,  who 


IN  THE  TRENCHES  79 

some  day  will  have  to  answer  to  the  awak- 
ened conscience  of  the  German  nation. 
There  are  certain  tales  that  are  too  horrible 
to  be  set  down  here. 

Not  once,  but  a  hundred  times,  did  we  re- 
ceive circumstantial  testimony  of  the  shoot- 
ing of  the  wounded  on  the  battlefield,  the 
deliberate  destruction  of  villages,  the 
slaughter  of  civilians — even  to  the  driving 
of  them  before  the  firing  line  as  a  screen — 
the  constant  firing  on  the  Red  Cross  (in- 
deed, this  is  the  testimony  of  every  Amer- 
ican driver  of  the  ambulances).  Added  to 
this,  the  pillaging  and  the  indescribable 
befouling  of  property  over  the  region  we 
traversed  on  our  several  trips  to  the  front 
were  brought  to  our  notice  by  dozens  of  per- 
sonal narratives.  The  Frenchman,  with  his 
intelligence  and  generosity,  does  not  con- 
demn a  whole  people.  At  the  bottom,  I 
believe  they  feel  that  they  are  fighting  as 
much  for  the  German  people  as  for  them- 


80  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

selves,  to  free  German  humanity  from  the 
continuous  yoke  of  the  military  terrorism 
which  can  so  oppress  the  private  conscience. 
In  the  afternoon  we  departed  to  visit  the 
artillery  encampments,  with  the  same  pre- 
cautions to  keep  to  cover,  and  the  same  feel- 
ing of  being  watched  by  myriads  of  unseen 
eyes — a  feeling  as  though  the  whole  sky 
were  haunted.  We  left  the  automobiles 
even  before  it  seemed  necessary,  but  we  were 
in  the  region  of  the  great  masked  batteries, 
constantly  under  observation  by  a  hundred 
German  spyglasses,  seeking  some  clue  to 
the  hidden  location  of  these  immense  en- 
gines of  destruction,  which  defy  the  detec- 
tion of  the  aeroplane  itself.  We  pene- 
trated an  innocent-appearing  grove,  to  find 
ourselves  suddenly  in  the  heart  of  an  artil- 
lery encampment;  horses  tethered  by  the 
hundreds  under  shelters  covered  with 
boughs,  battalions  of  men  living  in  dugouts, 
carefully  masked;  a  thousand  living  units, 


AEROPLANE  CAMP. 


FIELD  HOSPITAL  AND  STERILIZING  PLANT. 


IN  THE  TRENCHES  81 

absolutely  indistinguishable  a  hundred  feet 
in  the  air.  The  horses  were  in  splendid  con- 
dition, many  of  them  from  America,  which 
I  found  had  given  invariably  a  good  account 
of  themselves. 

Here  an  officer  shattered  one  of  the  fic- 
tions of  the  war,  that  the  life  of  a  horse  or 
an  automobile  is  under  twenty-one  days. 
Many  of  the  horses  we  saw  had  served  from 
the  first  months ;  the  same  is  true  of  the  au- 
tomobiles. On  an  average,  the  life  of  a 
horse,  I  should  say,  is  from  five  to  six 
months;  of  an  automobile,  considerably 
longer. 

The  underground  caverns  were  about  ten 
feet  square,  with  superimposed  bunks  for 
from  two  to  six  men.  They  had  been  in- 
habited for  months  and  were  full  of  little, 
intimate  touches — attempts  at  wall-paper- 
ing, sections  from  illustrated  papers  crudely 
framed,  flower  beds  before  each  door.  Here 
as  everywhere  French  humor  continued  its 


82  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

irrepressible  gayety.  A  shack  fit  for  a  cow 
was  named  "Villa  des  Grands  Dues,"  while 
a  mud  path  was  facetiously  dubbed  "Ave- 
nue des  Champs  Elysees."  The  soldiers 
were  delighted  to  see  us,  eager  to  joke,  and 
quite  pleased  at  being  photographed. 

From  here  a  climb  of  about  three-quarters 
of  a  mile  brought  us  to  the  guns  themselves, 
a  battery  of  the  famous  7o's,  the  pride  of 
the  French  Army.  Five  miles  behind  the 
lines  every  vestige  of  military  activity  was 
as  carefully  buried  from  observation  as  the 
pickets  themselves.  The  whole  war  is  an 
immense  development  of  Indian  tactics,  for 
the  moment  a  camp,  or  a  battery,  or  even 
the  headquarters  of  a  commandmant  can  be 
located  everything  must  be  moved  on  a  min- 
ute's notice  or  complete  destruction  will  fol- 
low. 

But  where  Indians  hide  only  human  be- 
ings, conceive  of  modern  troops  ambushing 
enormous  engines,  sinking  them  from  ten  to 


IN  THE  TRENCHES  83 

twenty  feet  below  the  surface  of  the  ground, 
covering  them  over  with  caps  of  solid  tim- 
ber, sandbags,  and  loose  dirt,  to  be  sown 
with  grass  seed  or  spread  with  branches. 
Inside,  one  has  the  impression  of  firing 
through  an  enormous  box  with  only  a  slit 
five  feet  wide  and  a  foot  and  a  half  in  height. 
Even  this  opening  is  masked  by  bushes  and 
saplings.  These  guns  fire  under  orders 
from  an  observation  point  from  three  to  four 
miles  in  front,  under  telephone  communica- 
tion. Beside  each  gun  is  a  telephone  op- 
erator in  a  subterranean  chamber  for  detach- 
ments of  six  to  ten  men  on  duty,  able  to  fire 
a  shot  within  three  to  five  seconds  after  re- 
ceipt of  a  telephone  call  at  any  hour  of  the 
day  or  night.  The  atmosphere  here  vividly 
recalled  the  interior  of  a  New  York  fire  sta- 
tion; there  was  a  constant  feeling  of  some- 
thing impending,  an  alertness  of  lounging 
men,  and  the  minutest  calculations  had  been 
made  to  save  the  fraction  of  a  second. 


84  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

The  value  of  time  in  trench  warfare  is  al- 
most incredible.  An  attack  signaled  from 
the  German  lines  must  be  checked  by  shell 
fire  within  ten  seconds  after  it  has  been  de- 
tected, or  it  may  be  too  late.  The  truth  is 
that  the  artillery  on  either  side  is  so  impene- 
trably masked  that  the  harm  it  can  do  the 
other  is  almost  nil.  In  the  long  months  the 
losses  of  the  French  artillery  in  the  large 
section  we  visited  amounted  to  the  loss  of  a 
few  lives  of  men  who  had  exposed  themselves 
outside  the  bomb-proof  pits  during  periods 
of  bombardment. 

At  the  first  sound,  soldiers,  even  in  the 
front  trenches,  disappear  into  bomb-proof 
dugouts  twenty  to  thirty  feet  underneath  the 
surface  of  the  ground,  provided  with  out- 
lets and  telephone  communication,  to  await 
the  end  of  the  bombardment,  ready  to  re- 
appear at  the  beginning  of  the  attack.  De- 
spite the  constant  rain  of  projectiles  that 
goes  on,  the  only  possibility  of  definite  re- 


IN  THE  TRENCHES  85 

suits  is  in  the  concentration  of  from  600  to 
1,000  guns  brought  to  bear  upon  a  limited 
area,  so  completely  to  plow  up  the  ground 
under  a  harrow  of  steel  that  no  trenches 
can  keep  their  formation  nor  any  human  be- 
ing survive.  There  remains,  of  course,  the 
question  of  the  moral  stimulus  to  the  sol- 
diers, of  the  sensation  of  constant  attack  and 
vigilance. 

Before  an  attack  a  long  preparation  for 
the  infantry  charge  must  be  made  by  a  bom- 
bardment of  the  opposite  trenches  that  some- 
times lasts  over  two  days,  the  object  sought 
being  the  overturning  of  the  trenches  so  as 
to  effect  the  dismantling  of  the  dreaded  ma- 
chine guns.  At  the  moment  of  the  attack 
the  artillery  range  is  extended  100  to  150 
yards  behind  the  trenches  to  be  taken  to  pre- 
vent the  rushing  up  of  the  enemy's  reinforce- 
ments. This  co-ordination  of  the  artillery 
and  the  infantry  has  to  be  carefully  adjusted 
by  officers  in  exposed  points  of  observation, 


86  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

who  must  see  to  it,  in  case  it  is  feasible  to 
sweep  beyond  the  first  trenches,  that  the  ar- 
tillery screen  does  not  work  out  as  a  check 
to  their  own  troops.  Everything  is  at  the 
mercy  of  these  observers,  and  a  break  in  the 
telephone  connection  or  a  catastrophe  wip- 
ing out  an  observation  post  would  be  fol- 
lowed by  the  immolation  of  their  own  troops. 
The  artillery  encampments,  being  farther 
back  from  the  front,  take  on  the  air  of  or- 
ganized communities.  In  spots  we  found  a 
system  of  hot  and  cold  shower  baths.  The 
huts  and  dugouts  had  a  semblance  of  village 
order,  the  fronts  often  decorated  with  crude 
bits  of  sculpture  or  drawing.  Another  de- 
tour, another  climb,  and  we  reached  a  group 
of  155-millimeter  guns — enormous  guns,  ten 
feet  high  and  from  twenty-five  to  thirty  feet 
from  tip  to  tail,  buried  under  branches  of 
trees.  On  the  next  plateau  a  75-millimeter 
gun  had  been  mounted  for  defense  against 
aeroplanes. 


IN  THE  TRENCHES  87 

All  through  these  districts  narrow-gauge 
tracks  ran  everywhere  for  the  transport  of 
ammunition  and  water,  which  is  scrupu- 
lously inspected.  In  this  small  group  of 
huts  we  found  numerous  articles,  tables, 
rockers,  fashioned  by  the  soldiers  in  their  idle 
hours;  a  large  cage,  with  half  a  dozen  rare 
birds  as  pets,  and  on  one  side  a  curious  ar- 
rangement of  hanging  bottles,  which  had 
been  constructed  into  a  musical  instrument. 
The  inventor,  without  a  second  urging,  per- 
formed several  complicated  arias  for  our 
benefit. 

We  ended  the  afternoon  with  a  visit  to 
the  aviation  camp,  a  supply  depot,  and  a 
first-line  hospital.  French  surgery  has  ac- 
complished marvels  in  this  war,  French  med- 
icine has  succeeded  in  preventing  the  prophe- 
sied epidemics  in  the  trenches;  but  on  the 
side  of  hygiene  and  comfort  there  is  much 
to  be  said  in  criticism.  We  went  into  one 
room  with  eight  beds,  tenanted  by  convales- 


88  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

cents  from  major  wounds  so  serious  as  not 
to  have  permitted  their  transfer  to  the  rear. 
The  room  was  alive  with  flies  everywhere, 
clustered  on  the  bedspreads,  adhering  to  the 
bodies  of  the  patients,  whose  only  protec- 
tions were  fans  with  which  they  weariedly 
strove  to  dispel  the  returning  clouds.  To 
American  eyes,  it  was  the  worst  thing  we 
saw  in  a  trip  that  had  impressed  us  with  the 
mechanical  efficiency  of  the  French  organiza- 
tion in  the  front  and  the  rear — and  a  few 
francs  spent  for  mosquito  netting  would 
have  remedied  it  all. 

At  the  General  Headquarters  we  had  a 
dramatic  encounter.  On  the  night  of  the 
mobilization  I  had  dined  at  the  Players' 
Club  with  Hoffbauer,  the  painter.  Two 
days  later  he  had  left  for  France  as  a  volun- 
teer. From  time  to  time  postal  cards  with 
meagre  information  had  arrived.  We  knew 
that  he  was  in  the  trenches,  facing  all  the 
rigors  of  the  Winter  campaign.  At  Rheims 


IN  THE  TRENCHES  89 

by  accident  we  learned  that  he  had  been 
lately  transferred  through  the  influence  of 
Flameng,  the  great  French  artist,  to  the 
headquarters  of  the  army  as  one  of  the  of- 
ficial painters  of  the  war. 

He  was  utterly  unprepared  for  our  ar- 
rival, struck  dumb  with  the  astonishment  of 
perceiving  these  first  friends  in  eleven 
months.  We  secured  permission  to  carry 
him  off  with  us  for  the  night,  at  Chateau 
Thierry,  where  our  party  was  an  example 
of  the  simplicity  and  fraternity  in  the 
French  Army — a  simple  soldier,  two  corpor- 
als, a  Captain,  and  an  officer  of  the  General 
Staff.  The  dining  room  was  filled  with  just 
such  mixtures.  If  anything,  the  war  has 
brought  a  more  spontaneous  democracy; 
only  essentials  count;  pomp  and  trappings 
are  too  trivial  to  be  noticed  at  such  mo- 
ments. 

That  night  I  sat  up  for  long,  eager  ques- 
tioning of  Hoffbauer.  He  had  been  mobil- 


90  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

ized  in  the  reserves,  and  immediately  volun- 
teered for  the  active  army.  For  days  after 
the  muster  he  had  lived  in  railroad  trains, 
little  boxes,  passing  through  villages  with 
the  shutters  closed,  absolutely  ignorant  of 
where  he  was  going.  He  recalled  the  eager- 
ness of  those  first  days,  the  ardor  of  every 
one  to  get  to  the  front;  the  short  stops  at 
each  station;  the  women  who  came  out  to 
them  to  bring  them  provisions,  to  decorate 
them  with  flowers  and  place  flags  in  their 
muskets.  Then  the  sudden  disembarkment ; 
the  beginning  of  the  march  to  the  front ;  the 
first  sounds  of  firing  in  the  air;  the  curious 
sobering  effect  as  the  cannonading  increased 
in  violence,  and  each  said  to  himself : 
"This  is  the  beginning  of  death." 
All  at  once,  as  they  were  approaching  the 
front,  a  regiment  j>assed,  returning  from  the 
firing  line,  dirty,  torn,  bandaged,  caked  with 
grime — an  awe-inspiring  spectacle  of  actual 
war;  a  regiment  of  regulars  that  roared  at 


ENTRANCE  TO  UNDERGROUND  DWELLINGS 
AT  ARTILLERY  ENCAMPMENT. 


THIRTY  FEET  UNDERNEATH  THE  GROUND.    BUREAU  OF  OFFICERS. 


IN  THE  TRENCHES  91 

their  holiday  parade  and  joked  "the  little 
scholars"  decked  for  a  dance. 

The  tattered  line  passed.  With  one  com- 
mon impulse  the  volunteers  stripped  them- 
selves of  their  flowers  and  their  flags,  silent 
under  the  rebuke.  No  one  joked;  a  curious 
silence  settled  among  them;  every  one 
thought  of  what  had  passed. 

That  evening  they  had  gone  forward  to 
the  front,  the  night  hideous  with  the  shriek 
of  shells  and  the  scream  of  the  wounded. 
All  at  once  an  officer  cried  to  them  to  lie  flat 
on  the  ground.  Then  a  shell  burst  scarcely 
fifteen  feet  away  from  them.  Again  a  hur- 
ried order  to  advance,  only  this  time  six  or 
seven  men  failed  to  rise. 

"You  were  not  afraid?"  I  said  to  him. 

"At  first,  of  course.  Then  you  get  a  curi- 
ous feeling  of  fatalism.  Every  one  does." 

The  next  day  we  returned  to  Paris.  Of 
this  trip  I  think  the  last  and  abiding  impres- 
sions will  always  be  of  the  women  and  the 


92  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

children.  Now,  when  in  an  occasional  com- 
munique I  read  these  short  recurring  words, 
"Yesterday  a  few  shells  fell  on  Rheims,"  I 
see  before  my  eyes  the  women  in  the  vine- 
yards and  the  children  in  the  shattered 
streets  of  Rheims,  playing  among  the  ruins. 


ARRAS  UNDER  BOMBARDMENT 


CHAPTER  IV 

AR.RAS   UNDER   BOMBARDMENT 

OUR  second  trip  to  the  region  of  Ar- 
ras, the  scene  of  the  bloodiest  con- 
flicts of  the  entire  trench  warfare,  was  in 
violent  contrast  to  our  first  trip  to  Rheims. 
After  the  three  days  spent  on  this  front, 
Rheims  and  Betheny  seemed  like  regions 
under  an  armistice — entrenched  camps,  it  is 
true,  but  living  in  a  state  of  armed  peace  that 
had  endured  for  generations  and  would  con- 
tinue so  into  the  unfathomable  future,  but 
somehow  removed  from  the  horror  and  hide- 
ousness  of  actual  war.  At  Rheims  the  de- 
struction had  been  so  complete  that  it  had 
left  an  impression  of  a  vast  museum,  in 
which  our  weak  imagination  refused  to  vis- 
ualize the  fury  and  havoc  which  had  passed. 


96  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

The  stoic  life  of  the  city,  the  activities  read- 
justed to  meet  a  new  conception  of  life, 
somehow  intensified  this  sensation  of  per- 
manence, of  accepted  conditions.  At  Arras, 
at  Blangy,  at  the  slopes  of  Notre  Dame  de 
Lorette  and  at  the  shattered  town  of  Ablain 
St.  Nazaire,  we  had  an  impression  of  living 
death,  a  sense  of  destruction  haunting  the 
ruins,  the  plowed  hillsides,  the  very  sky  it- 
self. Through  the  entire  duration  of  our 
trip,  the  air  was  never  quiet  a  moment,  and 
at  times  the  multiplicity  of  the  explosions 
was  staggering.  When  we  arrived  from 
Doullens,  our  headquarters,  after  a  circui- 
tous skirting  of  the  least  exposed  routes,  the 
atmospheric  conditions  themselves  height- 
ened this  sense  of  desolation  and  terror.  A 
high  wind,  rising  at  times  to  the  fury  of  a 
gale,  was  sweeping  through  the  littered 
streets,  immense,  storm-charged  banks  of 
clouds  scurrying  over  the  jagged  house 
tops  in  grotesque,  distorted,  mammoth 


ARRAS  BEFORE. 
From  the  drawing  by    Walter  Ha.le. 


ARRAS  AFTER. 

From  the  drawing  by    Walter  Hale. 


shapes.  For  days  Arras  had  been  under 
continuous  bombardment  with  the  great  Ger- 
man explosive  shells.  Of  the  27,000  inhab- 
itants, a  bare  1,200  remained,  hidden  in  cel- 
lar recesses,  imprisoned  for  long  periods, 
venturing  timorously  forth,  with  anxious, 
frightened  glances  at  the  threatening  sky. 

At  our  first  stop,  to  pay  our  respects  to 
the  General  in  command  and  to  receive  our 
guide,  we  were  brought  into  abrupt  realiza- 
tion of  the  contrast  between  this  visit  and 
the  last.  The  German  spy  system  had  done 
its  work  well.  General  X.  had  shifted  his 
headquarters  but  a  few  days;  yet  already  in 
the  garden  were  great,  gaping  holes,  in 
which  our  entire  party  could  camp.  An- 
other shell,  admirably  aimed,  had  carried 
away  a  great  portion  of  the  first  story  and 
littered  the  salon  with  crumbling  white 
masses  of  shattered  blocks.  The  General 
and  the  staff  themselves  had  sought  the  se- 
curity of  the  cellars  below,  every  opening 


98  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

protected  by  heaped  barricades  of  sandbags 
to  catch  the  flying  needles  of  steel.  The 
rooms  thus  occupied,  lighted  by  candles  or 
lamps,  with  tiny  vent  holes  for  air  where  a 
coal  chute  descended,  were  damp,  inexpres- 
sibly gloomy  and  oppressive.  No  prison, 
even  in  barbarous  Mexico,  could  have  sur- 
passed the  midnight,  stifling  depression  of 
these  dungeons,  overrun  by  rats  and  vermin, 
typical  of  the  homes  of  over  a  thousand  hu- 
man beings  in  Arras  to-day.  A  group,  in- 
distinguishable in  the  obscurity,  was  poring 
over  a  map.  At  the  entrance,  behind  the 
sandbags,  four  orderlies  were  playing  cards. 
The  General's  apartment  was  considered  a 
sort  of  throne  room.  It  had  a  rug  and  two 
lithographs  against  the  moist  wall.  It  was 
about  eight  feet  square,  formerly  the  coal 
cellar.  The  officer  who  conducted  us  was 
delighted  at  our  surprise,  assuring  us  that  if 
there  were  inconveniences,  it  was  astonish- 
ing how  quiet  it  was  at  night,  except,  of 


course,  when  a  shell  tore  through  the  upper 
stories.  He  admitted  that  the  playfulness 
of  the  rats,  particularly  when  they  chased 
each  other  over  the  blanket,  was  rather  dis- 
turbing, but  one  accustomed  himself  to  even 
that. 

In  charge  of  Captain  X.  we  started  for 
a  tour  of  the  city  to  end  with  a  visit  to 
Blangy,  where  the  French  and  German 
trenches  were  locked  scarcely  twenty  meters 
apart.  After  this  introduction  to  life  un- 
der bombardment,  with  the  repeated  jarring 
explosions  constantly  about  us,  we  experi- 
enced for  the  first  time  the  true  sensation 
of  being  under  fire.  Every  street  and 
every  square  had  been  searched  by  the  Ger- 
man artillery — yesterday,  last  night,  an  hour 
before.  There  was  a  suspended  stillness  in 
the  quarter  about  us  that  contrasted 
strangely  with  the  uproar  above  us.  The 
bombardment  might  be  half  a  mile  or  five 
miles  away,  but  I  know  each  of  us  felt  that 


100          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

at  any  moment,  at  a  caprice,  the  iron  shower 
might  come  sweeping  around  to  where  it  had 
swept  before.  Every  crossing,  every 
square,  seemed  to  us  horribly  exposed.  I 
still  remember  vividly  the  feeling  of  spread- 
ing desolation  which  I  received  as  we  crossed 
the  Place  Victor  Hugo.  Every  window 
pane  had  been  shattered,  every  wall  riddled 
with  great  and  small  holes — but  beyond  these 
visible  marks  was  the  feeling  of  the  flight  of 
human  beings,  of  the  imminence  of  total  de- 
struction hanging  over  these  deserted  and 
mournful  rows  of  silent  homes.  In  the  dis- 
tance a  woman's  figure  passed — a  black,  flit- 
ting shadow,  the  only  human  note.  The  de- 
struction here  had  just  begun,  the  more  im- 
pressive for  the  fact.  I  remember  the  sight 
of  one  house,  which  had  been  torn  completely 
away — the  strange  feeling  of  violation  of 
privacy  that  it  gave  us  to  look  in  upon  the 
tumbled  bed  and  the  remnants  of  a  woman's 
dress  scattered  from  the  wardrobe.  At  an- 


EFFECT  OF  ONE  SHELL  IN  ARRAS. 


ARRAS  UNDER  BOMBARDMENT  101 

other  corner,  a  couple  of  houses  were  still 
smoldering,  where  incendiary  bombs  had  set 
them  on  fire. 

"They  are  very  clever,  les  Boches,"  said 
Captain  X.  "They  set  fire  to  a  house  so  that 
the  flames  will  guide  them,  and  when  the 
firemen  arrive,  they  bombard  them  with 
shrapnel." 

The  plaster  was  still  dropping  as  we 
looked,  and  a  gust  of  wind  brought  a  sud- 
den crumbling  of  bricks.  We  went  on, 
through  streets  where  stone  and  glass  were 
rolling  before  us,  the  feeling  of  terror  in- 
creasing with  the  silence  lurking  through 
this  abandoned  devastation — a  gray,  damp, 
stormy  morning,  with  sudden,  startling 
splashes  of  rain,  a  city  conceived  in  the  imag- 
ination of  Edgar  Allan  Poe,  where  a  sud- 
den banging  of  shutters  or  the  fall  of  a  shat- 
tering glass  seemed  the  doomed  notes  of  the 
"Fall  of  the  House  of  Usher."  What  a 
sense  of  haunting  tragedy  was  conveyed  by 


102  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

these  curtains  streaming  from  abandoned 
windows!  I  remembered  the  time  when  I 
was  a  boy  at  Etretat.  A  murder  had  taken 
place  in  a  chalet  on  a  deserted  allee,  and  we 
stood,  in  the  fall  of  the  night,  gazing  at  the 
dread  house,  which  seemed  transformed  to 
our  imagination  by  an  uncomprehended  hor- 
ror. I  remember  still  through  the  passage 
of  years  a  curtain  streaming  from  the  win- 
dow, unheeded  in  the  panic  and  the  terror 
that  reigned  within.  That  is  the  impression 
that  these  torn,  vacant  houses,  with  bedrag- 
gled laces  whipping  from  the  windows,  made 
on  me.  It  seemed  as  though  within  each 
some  unspeakable  crime  had  taken  place, 
from  which  the  criminals  had  fled  in  name- 
less dread  of  the  supernatural. 

It  did  not  seem  possible  that  human  be- 
ings could  brave  these  haunted  streets,  and 
yet  human  beings  were  there.  Occasion- 
ally, from  the  bowels  of  the  street,  through  a 
clumsily  erected  pipe,  a  little  puff  of  smoke 


ARRAS  UNDER  BOMBARDMENT  103 

crept  out,  climbing  stickily  up  the  damp 
walls.  In  a  broken  street,  where  one  shell 
had  literally  disemboweled  a  whole  house, 
leaving  only  the  roof  hanging  like  a  suspen- 
sion bridge,  whom  should  we  happen  upon 
but  a  postman  delivering  mail  to  a  woman 
who  rose  cautiously  from  her  cave!  Re- 
member, this  was  within  fifty  yards  of  the 
house  which  had  been  literally  blown  away. 
She  was  a  sweet-faced  old  lady,  untroubled 
and  resigned.  I  asked  the  invariable  ques- 
tion: 

"How  do  you  dare  stay  here?" 
"Where  would  I  go?"  she  said,  with  a 
helpless  little  look. 

To  her,  as  to  the  rest,  to  leave  home  meant 
the  end  of  all  things.  The  outer  world  was 
something  uncomprehended,  which  terrified 
her.  The  military  authorities  have  done 
everything  possible  to  enforce  the  evacuation 
of  Arras,  short  of  an  absolute  order,  and 
yet  they  are  met  at  every  turn  with  this  ter- 


104          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

rifled  clinging  to  the  threshold,  that  prefers 
any  risk  rather  than  exile. 

We  reached  the  cathedral,  which  had  been 
heavily  bombarded  during  the  night.  Near 
by  a  group  of  houses  were  still  burning  from 
the  last  incendiary  bombs.  A  few  water 
pipes  were  playing  upon  the  hot,  smoky 
ruins.  The  building  itself  had  been  shat- 
tered and  mutilated  with  a  constant  shower 
of  shells,  until  it  was  now  an  uninhabitable 
ruin.  However,  even  this  does  not  satisfy 
— the  Germans  evidently  intend  to  raze  it 
to  the  ground,  and  each  night  return  to  the 
work  of  destruction.  Within  fifty  feet  a 
woman  passed  us,  basket  on  her  arm,  stop- 
ping anxiously  at  a  fresh  explosion,  to  ques- 
tion an  abbe  who  was  contemplating  the  de- 
struction at  our  sides: 

"Monsieur  L'Abbe,  they  are  not  for  us, 
are  they,  those  shells?" 

"No,  no;  don't  worry.    It's  farther  on." 

Reassured,  she  nodded  brightly  to  us,  as 


though  ashamed  of  her  fear,  and  went  reso- 
lutely up  the  street. 

We  climbed  over  the  soft,  white  stones, 
heaped  in  refuse,  with  the  damp,  hot  smells 
always  in  our  nostrils,  and  left  behind  us  the 
doomed  cathedral.  Halfway  up  the  street 
I  stopped  to  speak  with  a  group  still  living 
in  their  cellar,  within  a  hundred  yards  of 
this  most  exposed  spot  in  Arras,  heedless  of 
destruction,  and  after  much  coaxing  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  the  grandmother,  a  woman 
of  85,  to  appear  at  the  cellar  steps  long 
enough  to  be  photographed.  They  seemed 
to  have  slight  fear,  confident  in  the  security 
of  their  retreat  and  firm  in  the  belief  that  all 
that  was  sought  was  the  destruction  of  the 
cathedral.  A  few  doors  above  I  accepted 
an  invitation  to  visit  one  of  these  under- 
ground homes.  The  front  cellar  was  given 
over  to  a  grocery  shop.  A  sealed  room  to 
one  side,  absolutely  without  light,  held  two 
enormous  beds,  in  which  father,  mother,  and 


106          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

four  children  slept.  I  went  back  through 
a  narrow  passage  to  a  room  which  served  as 
kitchen,  dining  room,  and  parlor,  equally 
without  light.  In  one  corner  was  a  stove, 
opposite  an  altar  with  a  statue  of  the  Vir- 
gin, and  two  candles. 

"Why,  you're  lodged  like  princes  here," 
I  said,  laughing. 

"Not  bad,  not  bad  at  all." 

"And  business?" 

"Oh,  business — that's  another  thing! 
Still,  when  you  think  what's  happened  to  the 
others,  we  can't  complain." 

I  shook  hands  with  them. 

"Good  luck  to  you  throughout  the  war!" 

"Merci  bien,  Monsieur." 

Another  turn,  and  we  were  before  the  ab- 
ject ruins  of  what  had  been  the  pride  of  the 
city,  the  historic  Hotel  du  Ville.  Here, 
standing  in  the  square,  the  intention  of  the 
Germans  to  concentrate  on  the  destruction 
of  this  priceless  monument  alone  was  evi- 


VIEW  OF  THE  HOTEL  DE  VILLE. 


ARRAS  UNDER  BOMBARDMENT     107 

dent.  Although  the  houses  had  been  rid- 
dled with  stray  bits  of  shell  and  shrapnel, 
they  stood  in  unbroken  outline,  a  significant 
contrast  to  the  shattered  tower  and  crum- 
bling dustheaps  of  the  monument.  A  fine 
rain  began,  and  we  started  to  take  shelter 
under  the  arcade  to  the  right,  to  be  greeted 
by  a  hasty  warning  from  our  guide. 

"Not  there,  not  there — too  exposed. 
You're  in  the  direct  line." 

With  the  constant  shattering  echo  in  the 
air,  we  needed  no  second  reminder;  we 
passed  hurriedly  on  to  the  farther  arcade, 
where  the  houses  themselves  interpose  an  ef- 
fective barrier.  There,  to  our  astonishment, 
as  we  waited  a  moment  for  the  shower  to 
spend  its  force,  from  the  arcade  from  which 
we  had  just  been  warned  a  scattering  of 
children  appeared  out  of  the  lower  caves, 
and  two  pet  dogs,  romping  in  circles. 

"So  there  are  children  there,  where  it  is 
too  dangerous  for  us,"  I  said,  laughing. 


108          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

"Impossible  to  get  them  to  move.  They 
are  convinced  that  it  is  all  over — poor  little 
devils." 

We  crossed  the  Grande  Place,  a  vast 
open,  cobbled  space,  where  the  grasses  were 
greedily  reclaiming  their  own,  with  groups 
of  soldiers  at  every  step,  beside  smoking 
kitchens,  busy  at  their  morning  meal.  Here, 
as  everywhere,  there  was  no  attempt  at  cere- 
mony, our  officers  seeming  to  avoid  it.  A 
few  soldiers  sprang  to  attention  as  we  ap- 
proached, but  the  rest,  perceiving  that  our 
passage  had  no  significance  for  them,  con- 
tinued in  their  lounging,  reclining  positions. 
We  reached  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  with 
strong  barricades  multiplying  at  every  cor- 
ner, and,  stretching  our  line  into  thinner 
groups,  started  for  the  exposed  trenches  at 
Blangy.  After  the  precautions  that  were 
rigorously  enforced  upon  us  in  our  trip  to 
Rheims,  the  long,  open  spaces,  with  the  Ger- 
man lines  plainly  in  view,  through  which  we 


ARRAS  UNDER  BOMBARDMENT   109 

passed  gave  us  quite  a  different  sensation  as 
to  the  imminence  of  the  conflict  that  contin- 
ued to  rage  above  our  heads.  Batteries 
were  thundering  at  every  point,  shells, 
plainly  visible,  bursting  a  couple  of  miles 
away  on  the  hostile  slopes.  We  went  on, 
seemingly  into  the  very  teeth  of  the  fire,  vi- 
brantly conscious  that  this  was  something 
different  from  the  "Tournee  des  Grandes 
Dues,"  which  we  now  mentally  baptized  our 
excursion  to  Rheims. 

The  boyau,  or  trench  approach,  was  here 
of  short  extent;  almost  immediately  we 
found  ourselves  in  the  underground  encamp- 
ment of  a  reserve  line.  To  right  and  left, 
short  paths  led  to  dugouts  in  groups  of  two 
and  three,  barely  wide  enough  to  squeeze 
into,  holding  sometimes  four  men,  in  spaces 
about  half  that  of  a  cabin  on  an  ocean 
steamer.  I  remember  how  struck  we  were 
with  the  splendid  morale  of  these  troops, 
condemned  to  this  disagreeable  and  irksome 


110          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

inaction.  They  were  invariably  magnifi- 
cent physical  specimens,  clear-eyed,  and  an- 
swering our  jests  with  quick,  delighted 
repartee.  Each  mudhole  was  still  a  home 
by  the  instinct  of  possession  and  habitation; 
each  bore  its  whimsical  name — "Villa  1'Es- 
perance,"  "Chateau  des  Princes,"  "Villa  des 
Banquiers.  Ring  twice.  The  concierge 
lives  under  the  stairs."  In  the  next  cluster 
I  noted  rough  plank  crossings,  entitled 
"Pont  des  Soupirs,"  and  a  direct  allee  to  the 
front  baptized  "Tranche  de  la  Gloire." 

Reserve  trenches  and  barricades,  with  em- 
placements for  machine  guns  sweeping  the 
defenses  themselves,  met  us  now  at  every 
turn.  We  kept  on,  with  the  jagged  roofs 
of  Blangy  to  our  left,  till  the  trench  sud- 
denly left  the  open  field,  with  occasional  gay 
splashes  of  flowers  and  rolling,  storm-driven 
clouds  above,  to  plunge  through  brick  walls 
and  cellars,  with  abrupt  views  overhead  of 
obscure  kitchens  and  devastated  dining 


rooms,  as  we  continued  to  wind  underneath 
the  huddled  habitations,  with  utter  disregard 
for  masonry  obstructions. 

To  get  a  clear  conception  of  this  fantastic 
maze  of  threading  trenches  underneath  the 
village  of  Blangy,  imagine  a  New  York 
block  the  upper  stories  of  which  have  been 
blown  away  and  scattered  by  concentrated 
shell  fire  for  weeks  until  not  a  vestige  of 
architectural  order  remains  above  the  shat- 
tered first  stories.  Imagine  that  this  entire 
block  could  be  lifted,  as  a  crowbar  removes 
a  giant  rock.  Underneath,  a  tangled  mass 
of  multiplied,  intersecting  trenches  would 
appear,  alive  with  human  beings,  just  as  the 
lifted  rock  would  reveal  a  myriad  tangled 
worm  tracks.  Only  at  Blangy  these  worm 
tracks,  instead  of  reaching  below  the  founda- 
tions, run  through  them.  Impossible  to  de- 
scribe this  grotesque,  distorted  idea  of  fa- 
miliar things — delving  into  damp  recesses, 
twisting  through  solid  foundations,  emerg- 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

ing  into  bleak  cellar  passages  choked  with 
waiting  soldiers — a  group  of  twenty  here,  a 
dozen  beyond  in  the  adjoining  cellar, 
stretched  in  the  scattered  straw,  conversing 
in  whispers. 

All  at  once  we  stopped  for  a  consulta- 
tion. Though  there  was  evidently  some  di- 
vision of  opinion  as  to  the  danger  involved, 
Captain  X.  whispered: 

"We're  going  up  for  a  close  view  of  the 
German  trenches.  Only,  no  talking; 
they're  close  enough  as  it  is." 

We  went  up  broken,  dusty  stairs,  past  the 
second  floor,  into  the  garret  at  the  top,  cau- 
tioned to  keep  back  from  the  vacant  win- 
dow. The  sloping  roof  was  absolutely  de- 
void of  shingles — a  naked  skeleton  of  thin, 
gaping  slats  through  which  we  peered  cau- 
tiously. Across  the  ruin  of  nearby  out- 
houses and  storm-swept  courtyard,  the 
French  and  German  trenches  lay  nakedly 
visible  to  us,  even  to  the  barbed  wire  en- 


ARRAS  UNDER  BOMBARDMENT   113 

tanglements,  scarcely  fifty  meters  away. 
For  a  mile  or  more,  from  where  they  took 
a  sudden  turn  and  passed  into  the  distance, 
closely  locked  in  murderous  embrace,  we 
could  follow  the  course  of  these  open  scars 
on  the  green  surface  of  the  earth.  A  few 
trees  nearby  had  had  their  foliage  literally 
scorched  away,  and  these  ragged,  singed 
branches,  with  occasional  tufts  still  show- 
ing, gave  us  a  quick  visualization  of  the 
storm  of  shot  and  shell  that  had  passed. 
Walter  Hale  took  here  one  of  the  most  re- 
markable photographs  of  the  war — a  picture 
taken  cautiously  through  the  slats,  one  of 
which  still  shows  in  the  lower  portion.  It 
was  only  after  we  had  filed  noiselessly  down, 
and  found  a  fretting,  fuming  group  of  offi- 
cers below,  that  we  realized  the  danger 
passed.  The  slightest  perception  of  our 
presence  above  (and  with  the  ceaseless, 
sweeping  search  of  the  German  glasses,  it 
was  a  wonder  how  our  party  escaped  their 


114          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

observation),  and  a  single  shell  would  have 
gutted  the  house  and  wiped  our  entire  party 
out  of  existence. 

Still  determined  to  approach  even  nearer, 
we  kept  on,  winding  through  a  malt  factory, 
turning  to  look  back  at  the  great  fissures  rent 
in  the  torn  brick  walls  by  the  German  high- 
explosive  shells,  twisting  through  the  most 
desolate  heap  of  refuse  I  have  ever  witnessed 
— yet  a  refuse  so  precious  that  human  beings 
had  stabbed,  cut,  grappled,  and  choked  each 
other  to  death  in  their  mad  lust  for  its  pos- 
session. We  were  now  scarcely  forty  me- 
ters away  from  the  German  trenches.  Bul- 
lets from  rival  sharpshooters  were  whining 
above  us  like  swarming  insects.  Three  of 
us  climbed  into  the  second  story  of  a  broken 
house.  The  circular  stairs  were  hanging  by 
threads ;  the  flooring  was  so  shredded  that  it 
could  not  have  held  another  human  body. 
From  where  we  were,  peering  through 
chinks  and  sudden  cracks,  we  could  have 


ARRAS  UNDER  BOMBARDMENT  115 

thrown  a  stone  into  the  opposite  ditches — 
and  still  not  a  sight  of  a  human  enemy! 
The  position  was  too  precarious  and  too 
open  even  for  the  gray,  rainy  day  which 
had  made  the  feat  possible.  Our  sensations 
were  quickly  satisfied.  We  came  down  gin- 
gerly. 

Still  we  advanced  until  we  reached  the 
point  where  the  German  lines  were  but 
twenty  meters  away.  The  same  impression 
returned  to  me,  looking  from  this  last-flung 
outpost  of  observation — refuse,  crowned 
with  barricades  of  barbed  wire — ground  that 
seemed  humanly  impassable — jagged,  up- 
rooted, torn,  deformed,  desecrated — the 
world  in  refuse!  And  for  a  hundred  yards 
of  this  worthless  dump  heap  of  man  and  na- 
ture a  thousand  lives  must  be  paid! 

We  left  here  with  the  feeling  of  having 
been  in  the  heart  of  a  cyclone,  as  though 
everything — solid  walls,  tree  trunks,  ledges 
of  rock,  green  fields,  and  human  bodies — had 


116          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

been  caught  by  some  gigantic  hands  and  torn 
into  unrecognizable  shreds.  And  from  this 
overwhelming  impression  of  destruction  we 
continued  along  the  front  line,  greeted  by 
silent,  erect  human  beings,  unfaltering  and 
unafraid.  Surely,  no  matter  what  hideous 
catastrophes  man's  destructive  mind  may  in- 
vent, the  atom  of  life  in  him  remains  uncon- 
querable and  superior. 

The  rest  of  the  party  had  passed  on,  leav- 
ing me  behind  with  Captain  X.  of  the  regi- 
ment on  guard. 

"If  you  want  a  sensation,"  he  said,  "come 
here." 

He  signaled  to  me,  and  we  entered  what 
at  first  appeared  to  me  to  be  the  ordinary 
bombproof  shelter.  Once  in,  however,  and 
my  eyes  growing  accustomed  to  the  dark- 
ness, I  perceived  a  square  canvas  covering 
against  the  wall  at  one  side. 

"A  tunnel?" 

He  nodded. 


ARRAS  UNDER  BOMBARDMENT  117 

"A  gallery  running  under  the  German 
lines,  eighty  to  a  hundred  meters." 

"Can  we  go  under?" 

He  nodded  again,  gave  an  order,  and  the 
orderly  who  was  with  us  lit  a  candle.  We 
went  on,  crouching,  at  times  almost  bent 
double,  for  forty,  fifty  meters,  past  a  great 
pipe  which  later  would  serve  to  pump  air 
into  the  depths.  I  remember  still  the  sensa- 
tion when  the  gray  opening  dwindled  and 
disappeared  and  it  seemed  as  though  the 
earth  had  closed  behind  us.  It  was  all  very 
damp,  mysterious,  and  increasingly  uncom- 
fortable. The  gallery  turned  off  to  one  side 
to  a  supplementary  poste  d'ecoute. 

"We  keep  a  man  down  there  from  time 
to  time  to  listen.  If  the  Bosches  attempt 
to  dig  a  mine,  we  can  locate  the  direction 
by  the  sound  of  the  picks,  and  then,  at  the 
right  time,  'bon  soir,  les  Bosches.'  Any  fur- 
ther?" 

"A  little,"  I  answered,  though  I  admit 


118          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

now  that  my  only  thought  was  to  go  as  far 
as  I  could  and  to  get  back  as  quickly.  The 
thought  had  somehow  possessed  my  im- 
agination that  these  same  Bosches  might 
have  driven  their  gallery  the  first,  and  take 
it  into  their  heads  at  any  moment  to 
treat  us  to  a  sudden  ascension.  I  ex- 
pressed as  much  to  my  guide,  speaking  in  a 
whisper. 

"It's  the  feeling  they  all  get  down  here. 
Even  the  regular  engineers  want  to  stop  too 
soon.  For  that  reason  most  mines  explode 
short.  Don't  blame  them." 

We  went  on  now  in  absolute  silence  until 
we  had  covered  about  eighty  meters,  which 
should  have  brought  us  within  about  fifteen 
yards  under  the  German  trenches.  At  a 
gesture  from  my  guide,  I  placed  my  ear  to 
the  cold,  sticky  wall.  The  noises  from 
above,  though  confused,  were  plainly  dis- 
tinguishable. Any  definite  sound,  such  as 
the  fall  of  a  pick,  would  have  been  instantly 


ARRAS  UNDER  BOMBARDMENT      119 

detected.  My  curiosity  by  this  time  was 
abundantly  satisfied.  We  returned  quietly 
and  quickly.  It  had  been  rather  a  creepy 
experience.  I  was  decidedly  glad  to  get 
back  to  the  open  air. 

The  party  had  by  this  time  gone  consid- 
erably away  from  us,  seeking  the  ruins  of  a 
chateau.  In  our  haste  to  catch  up  with 
them,  we  had  a  new  test  of  the  vigilance  of 
the  German  outposts.  The  trenches  here 
wound  back  and  forth  in  such  confusion  that 
a  stranger  could  quickly  lose  himself  in  the 
maze.  We  followed,  always  underground, 
the  trench  that  led  into  an  abandoned  mill 
organized  as  a  block  house,  where  a  score 
of  soldiers  were  stationed;  several,  halfway 
up  the  wall,  firing  at  the  slightest  dis- 
turbance opposite — a  shadow  against  the 
banked  dirt,  an  unaccustomed  rustling  of  the 
grasses  in  the  rear,  where  a  well-directed 
shot  might  find  three  inches  of  exposed  head. 
We  had  gone  off  our  track  and  were  directed 


120          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

to  the  boyau,  which  ran  back  of  the  house. 
Believing  that  we  were  still  in  the  shelter 
of  the  walls,  we  started  across  the  yard  to 
make  a  short  cut,  instead  of  returning  by 
way  of  the  boyau  in  which  we  had  come. 
Ten  feet — and  two  bullets  flattened  them- 
selves in  the  bricks  above  our  heads.  No 
wild  loon  ever  disappeared  beneath  the  sur- 
face of  the  water  as  quickly  as  I  dove  down, 
caught  a  supporting  beam  and  swung  into 
the  protection  of  the  trench.  My  com- 
panion, who  had  ducked  back  into  the  shel- 
ter of  the  block  house,  arrived  breathlessly 
a  moment  later,  by  the  boyau,  with  anxious 
inquiry,  the  more  concerned  that  his  lack  of 
precaution  had  exposed  a  visitor.  How- 
ever, no  harm  being  done,  we  paid  the  enemy 
a  laughing  tribute  mixed  with  a  little  de- 
rision : 

"Well,  well,  they  keep  good  watch,  but 
they  shoot  badly." 

He  was  still  plainly  concerned  at  the  ad- 


ARRAS  UNDER  BOMBARDMENT 

venture,  so  I  reassured  him,  telling  him  we 
would  say  nothing  of  it. 

Our  way  now  lay  backward.  We  passed 
from  the  first  trenches  into  the  second,  and 
all  at  once,  beyond  them,  came  upon  a  hos- 
pital of  the  first  line.  Here,  to  my  surprise, 
I  found  next  to  the  house  where  the  Red 
Cross  flag  was  flying  an  immense  cavern, 
freshly  dug,  soldiers  at  work  still  enlarging 
it,  the  Red  Cross  flag  proving  rather  an  at- 
traction for  German  shells  than  a  protection. 
The  wounded  from  the  front  had  to  be  stored 
temporarily  twenty  feet  underground. 
Leaving  the  trenches  now  behind,  we  en- 
tered again  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  deserted 
and  disheveled  streets  covered  with  steel 
fragments  of  shrapnel  and  shell,  pausing  a 
moment  to  enjoy  a  hearty  laughter  at  a 
dilapidated  shelter,  now  installed  with  show- 
ers, bearing  the  grandiloquent  title  of  "Sta- 
tion Thermale  de  Blangy  les  Bains." 

The  first  visit  was  ended.    We  stopped 


122          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

for  the  last  handshakes — impulsive,  loyal 
handshakes — looking  into  the  quiet  eyes  of 
these  splendid  men  who  had  been  a  moment 
in  our  lives, — wondering. 

"Good-bye.     Good  luck  for  the  war." 

"Esperons  et  bien  merci." 


NOTRE  DAME  DE  LORETTE 
RECONQUERED 


CHAPTER  V 

NOTRE   DAME   DE    LORETTE   RECONQUERED 

THE  next  day,  with  gray  clouds  and  a 
fine  rain  falling  intermittently,  we 
were  off  early,  for  a  trip  over  the  Notre 
Dame  de  Lorette  slopes,  the  scene  of  the 
closest  and  bloodiest  fighting  of  this  whole 
war,  every  yard  of  which  would  rank  with 
the  Bloody  Angle  of  Spottsylvania.  Con- 
voys were  passing  everywhere,  long,  herded 
cavalcades  of  horses  out  for  exercise  crowd- 
ing to  the  side  of  the  road  to  let  us  pass;  a 
dozen  artillery  caissons  carrying  the  day's 
ammunition  to  the  batteries;  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  of  creeping  prairie  wagons,  laden  with 
bread ;  immense  hay  wagons ;  and  then,  in  a 
sudden  cloud  of  mud,  a  score  of  green  auto 
busses,  inclosed  and  covered  with  straw  as  a 


126          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

protection  against  the  heat,  running  at  thirty 
miles  an  hour,  bringing  fresh  meat  from  fur- 
ther depots.  At  every  turn  our  horns  were 
screeching  their  warning  to  battalions  and 
companies  of  territorials  moving  out  for 
their  service  of  construction  and  policing  of 
the  roads.  Halfway  to  the  front,  we  came 
to  an  enforced  stop,  crowding  against  the 
sidewalk.  A  sound  of  bugles  leaping  on 
the  morning  air — and  up  the  long,  gray 
street,  the  head  of  a  regiment  appeared,  re- 
turning from  the  front.  They  passed 
grimly  and  methodically,  with  surging 
rhythm — a  grimy,  tattered,  scarred  mass, 
with  a  sprinkle  of  white  bandages,  a  dozen 
soldiers  still  in  their  ranks,  still  shouldering 
their  muskets,  limping  on  with  the  aid  of 
canes.  The  regimental  band  passed,  the 
buglers  twirling  their  brass  trumpets  in  a 
shining,  flurried  salute;  a  young  officer  on 
horseback,  gravely  acknowledging  our  sa- 
lutes; massed,  blue-gray  companies,  with 


ASPECT  OK  NOTRE  DAME  DE  LORETTE  SLOPES. 


PART  OF  BATTLEFIELD  OF  NOTRE  DAME  DE  LORETTE, 
SHOWING  EFFECT  OF  ARTILLERY  FIRE. 


EFFECT  OF  THE  EXPLOSION  OF  A  FRENCH  MINE. 


EFFECT  OF  FRENCH  ARTILLERY  FIRE  IN  TRENCHES. 


NOTRE  DAME  DE  LORETTE       127 

rhythmic  beat  in  insect  unison;  artillery 
trains,  with  gatling  guns  under  soiled  cov- 
erings; a  group  of  Red  Cross  wagons,  with 
wounded  staring  out  at  us ;  smoking  kitchens 
on  wheels,  piled  thick  with  fuel  and  pro- 
vender, and  behind,  the  last  train  of  commis- 
sariat wagons,  with  bread,  wine,  and  meat. 
One  battalion  passed,  and  then  another — all 
business-like  and  mechanical,  quite  different 
from  the  regiment  on  parade  down  long  ave- 
nues of  acclaiming  crowds  and  fluttering 
banners. 

The  cars  sprang  ahead  in  the  interval  be- 
tween one  division  and  another  already 
stretching  along  a  side  road — interminable 
convoys,  waiting  patiently  at  each  intersec- 
tion. I  thought  of  the  band  that  had  led 
the  way,  with  the  one  touch  of  martial  pomp, 
and  perhaps  a  little  contemptuously  asked : 

"What  do  they  do  in  battle?" 

"The  band?  Stretcher  bearers,  of  course. 
When  there  is  a  charge  they  go  forward  with 


128          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

the  rest,  to  bring  the  wounded  back  at  night 
— under  fire.  Oh,  it's  not  all  music  for 
them." 

This,  I  confess,  was  a  new  point  of  view 
to  me. 

On  the  way  Captain  X.  held  forth  on  a 
number  of  things.  In  this  war  young 
troops  have,  it  seems,  one  serious  fault — they 
are  too  eager  to  advance;  consequently  it  is 
necessary  to  mix  them  in  with  seasoned  vet- 
erans who  can  teach  them  to  restrain  their 
arrogant  courage  and  instill  the  necessary 
qualities  of  precaution  and  patience.  He 
was  loud  in  his  praise  of  the  French  artillery 
and  the  scientific  efficiency  with  which  they 
attack  their  tasks.  The  taking  of  the  vil- 
lage of  Neuville  St.  Vaaste  was  particularly 
interesting.  The  artillery  began  by  demol- 
ishing the  farther  houses,  gradually  creep- 
ing up  to  the  front  lines,  so  that  when  the 
first  trench  was  carried  there  could  be  no  fall- 
ing back  of  the  enemy  from  one  line  to  an- 


NOTRE  DAME  DE  LORETTE   129 

other.  Moreover,  they  had  learned  that  the 
Germans  had  constructed  a  subterranean 
passage  for  the  quick  dispatch  of  reinforce- 
ments, and  this  tunnel  they  had  located 
within  a  limit  of  fifty  yards.  Before  the 
opening  of  the  final  vigorous  charge  the 
heavy  French  guns  planted  five  shells  in  a 
line  across  this  space,  tearing  immense  cav- 
erns across  the  tunnel  and  completely  nulli- 
fying this  access. 

We  swept  on  through  villages  with  long 
lines  of  Red  Cross  automobiles,  through  vil- 
lages where  the  soldiers  were  shaving  in  the 
open  air  or  bathing  in  the  basins,  past  fields 
with  occasional  artillery  depots,  with  thou- 
sands of  busses  stacked  in  shelters,  with  am- 
munition wagons  arriving  for  increased  sup- 
plies. The  Captain,  with  his  officers'  map 
spread  before  him,  traced  the  progress  of  the 
last  two  months.  Seen  thus  on  a  map, 
trench  warfare  is  capable  also  of  strategy 
and  tactics.  When  a  position  is  too  strong 


130          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

for  a  costly  attack,  weak  spots  are  found 
somewhere  up  and  down  the  line,  gradually 
saps  are  pushed  forward,  fragments  of 
trenches  are  carried,  until,  after  weeks,  a 
pocket  of  iron  and  steel  is  laboriously 
formed,  holding  a  rich  prize.  Then  at  the 
right  moment,  in  the  midst  of  a  general  at- 
tack, the  pocket  is  closed  and  2,000  or  3,000 
prisoners  are  caught  in  the  trap,  and  the  line 
has  gone  forward  500  yards,  in  a  new, 
straightened-out  front.  All  the  art  of  this 
trench  warfare  consists  in  the  selecting  of  the 
right  spots  for  these  pockets;  and,  with  the 
French  at  least,  each  conquered  fragment  of 
trenches  thrust  forward  has  some  such  flank- 
ing intention. 

For  several  miles  we  had  left  behind  this 
network  of  villages,  literally  choked  with  re- 
serve troops,  and  had  been  running  along  de- 
serted highways,  with  the  growing  staccato 
note  of  cannon  swelling  from  the  horizon. 
We  stopped  all  at  once  by  a  clustered  group 


of  houses  on  the  back  of  an  open  plateau. 
The  next  run  was  in  full  view  of  the  German 
batteries,  a  mile  of  clear  space.  Captain 
X.  descended  to  give  his  orders.  The  auto- 
mobiles, of  which  there  were  three,  were  to 
go  at  intervals  of  five  minutes.  We  led  the 
way,  throttle  open,  fairly  roaring  over  the 
ground,  quickly  gaining  the  sheltering 
foliage  of  the  Bois  de  Bouvigny,  passing  old 
trenches  now  miles  from  the  front,  which 
marked  the  progress  of  the  French  advance, 
coming  to  a  stop  in  the  heart  of  a  Spahi  en- 
campment dug  in  through  the  serried  tree 
trunks,  for  all  the  world  like  a  prairie  dog 
village.  Here  another  guide  was  awaiting 
us.  Lieutenant  X.,  a  bright,  energetic, 
smiling  young  fellow  (I  learned  afterward 
that  he  had  had  two  brothers  killed),  who 
greeted  us  with  a  bit  of  news.  The  night  be- 
fore there  had  been  a  charge,  and  the  French 
had  taken  a  line  of  trenches  at  Zed.  As  this 
was  the  continuation  of  a  pocketing  mamjeu- 


132          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

vre  which  Captain  X.  had  been  explaining  to 
me,  the  information  excited  us  greatly.  A 
couple  of  prisoners  had  just  come  in  and 
were  under  guard  in  the  opposite  stable. 
The  rest  of  the  party  now  joining  us,  we 
went  in  for  a  look  at  the  prisoners.  They 
were  in  sharp  contrast — one,  an  under  officer 
of  the  hospital  service,  a  man  of  good 
physique  and  quiet  force;  the  other  a  sol- 
dier, of  rather  brutish  stupidity  and  unim- 
pressive physically.  Both  were  plainly 
dazed  and  exhausted  from  their  experience 
with  hand  grenades  and  their  escape  from 
cold  steel.  The  bayonet,  by  the  way,  is  by 
far  the  most  deadly  method  of  attack.  In 
all  the  hospitals  I  visited — and  I  saw  thou- 
sands of  wounded — I  do  not  remember  more 
than  three  cases  of  bayonet  wounds.  When 
the  cold  steel  enters  the  body,  it  enters  to  kill. 
The  French  we  found  in  their  treatment  of 
German  prisoners  courteous,  tolerant,  and 
devoid  of  animosity.  From  what  I  was  able 


NOTRE  DAME  DE  LORETTE   133 

to  learn  in  personal  conversation,  the  atti- 
tude of  both  the  English  and  the  French, 
however,  toward  the  Germans  in  the  fury 
of  the  battle  itself  has  become  one  of  bitter- 
est hatred — a  change  that  has  been  wrought 
since  the  introduction  of  the  attack  by 
poisonous  gases.  The  memory  of  the  inhu- 
man sufferings  thus  inflicted  has  completely 
changed  the  attitude  of  the  belligerents. 

We  started  for  a  preliminary  inspection 
of  the  woods  of  Bouvigny,  passing  along  one 
of  the  narrow  gauge  railroads  that  thread 
through  this  ravaged  wilderness.  At  every 
step  we  were  stopped  to  examine  enormous 
cavities  made  by  shells  freshly  fallen.  The 
woods  were  filled  with  French  batteries  in 
action,  so  carefully  concealed  that  though 
our  ears  were  deafened  by  the  recurring  ex- 
plosions— this  day  we  must  have  passed 
among  200  guns — we  were  unable  to  detect  a 
single  one.  We  passed  great  depots  of 
water,  from  which  barrels  were  sent  forward 


134.          THE  SPIRIT  OF  TRANCE 

by  the  winding  track.  For  the  French,  in 
their  admirable  preventive  measures,  exer- 
cise the  strictest  control  over  the  water 
supply.  We  visited  a  dozen  bomb-proof 
shelters  sunk  under  enormous  piles  of  sand- 
bags, and  examined  the  stack  of  hand 
grenades,  some  in  shape  of  balls,  others 
stored  in  bottles  or  attached  to  lances. 

We  stopped  at  the  last  headquarters, 
where  we  visited  the  telephone  central,  which 
connects  with  every  battery.  I  was  talking 
to  the  operator,  who  had  come  up  from  the 
barricaded  ground,  when  the  telephone  rang 
and  I  heard  him  conversing  with  an  officer 
in  a  front  battery,  sending  in  a  report  of  the 
opening  cannonade.  For  acres  here  every- 
thing was  underground,  continually  under 
bombardment,  the  surface  riddled  with  gap- 
ing mud  chasms.  One  hole,  I  remember, 
from  a  210,  was  30  feet  across  and  15  feet 
deep.  Four  days  before,  we  were  told,  a 
group  had  been  dining  in  the  open  when  a 


THE    RAILROAD    THROUGH    THE    WOODS    TO    CARRY 
WATER    AND    AMMUNITION. 


M 

I    -' 


z   o 
<  £ 


shell  had  fallen  directly  in  their  midst.  The 
entire  party  had  been  wiped  out.  For  the 
next  few  days  they  picked  hands  and  feet 
from  the  surrounding  trees.  Seeing  the  de- 
vastation about  us,  we  could  well  believe 
such  tales. 

Before  even  we  had  left  the  thick  woods 
we  took  to  the  boyaux.  The  sound  of  the 
batteries  of  75s  firing  around  us  was  deafen- 
ing. Also,  at  this  moment  we  had  not 
learned  to  distinguish  the  sound  of  the  de- 
parting shell  from  the  explosion  of  the  arriv- 
ing one;  consequently  it  seemed  to  us  that 
we  were  in  a  perfect  hail  of  projectiles  and 
that  at  any  moment  the  ground  about  us 
would  heave  up  and  uprooted  trees  come 
crashing  on  our  heads.  Lieutenant  X.  drew 
my  attention  to  the  iron  wounds  in  the 
trunks  about  us : 

"Notice  how  everything  is  about  three  feet 
above  the  ground.  I  have  saved  myself 
twenty  times  by  flinging  myself  flat  on  the 


136          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

ground.  A  shell,  even  the  biggest,  can 
burst  fifteen  yards  away  and  pass  over  you, 
if  you  do  that." 

I  religiously  stored  away  the  advice. 

The  boyau  left  the  last  protecting 
branches  and  struck  into  the  open  plateau  of 
Notre  Dame  de  Lorette.  From  where  we 
were  we  could  see  the  hills,  like  three  giant 
tidal  waves,  rolling  out  into  the  flat  sweep  of 
low  plains.  The  panorama  was  unincum- 
bered.  The  green  stretch  extended  for 
miles  in  all  directions — below  us  the  twist- 
ing parallel  of  trenches  and  a  dozen  villages, 
some  in  shadow,  some  resplendent  in  rare 
shafts  of  sunlight.  The  boyau  here  was 
of  extraordinary  depth  and  solidity,  some- 
times ten  feet  in  height.  At  each  side,  clus- 
tered telephone  wires  ran  down  to  batteries. 
We  passed  a  group  of  telephone  repairers 
laying  wires,  inspecting  others.  The  bom- 
bardment had  increased.  Slowly  we  were 
beginning  to  distinguish  between  friendly 


NOTRE  DAME  DE  LORETTE   137 

and  threatening  sounds.  The  smells  began 
to  be  offensive,  and  we  noticed  for  the  first 
time  ugly  swarms  of  flies.  Above  the 
boyau,  as  the  littered  hill  rolled  up,  we  had 
our  first  glimpse  of  this  vast  cemetery — a 
scattering  of  thin  wooden  crosses,  marking 
the  end  of  friend  and  foe ;  a  soldier's  cap,  tat- 
tered, moldy  from  exposure,  distinguishing 
the  French,  where  some  comrade  during  the 
night  had  crawled,  at  the  risk  of  his  life,  to 
add  a  human  note  to  the  memory  of  a  friend. 

These  long,  sunken  corridors  opened  into 
caves  of  all  descriptions — for  the  first  aid  to 
the  injured,  for  the  reserves,  for  shelters  in 
case  of  bombardment. 

We  turned  from  these  highways  into 
trenches  little  used  and  consequently 
roughly  organized,  leading  over  the  most  ex- 
posed region,  on  the  very  back  of  the  slopes 
themselves,  which  are  absolutely  devoid  of 
tree  or  bush — a  glaring  mark  for  miles  of 
German  batteries  lining  the  horizon.  The 


138          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

trenches  seemed  very  shallow,  after  the  se- 
curity we  had  left.  At  places  the  sand  bags 
hardly  reached  to  our  shoulders.  All 
around  us  the  spectacle  of  the  ground  was 
frightful — not  a  blade  of  grass,  not  a  note  of 
green,  in  the  white  and  yellow  sea  of  mud, 
plowed  and  replowed  by  the  drenching 
shower  of  shell.  The  crosses,  bare  or  sup- 
porting blue  caps,  sprouted  in  thicker  pro- 
fusion. Flies  rose  up  and  swarmed  about 
our  faces  as  the  stench  became  more  notice- 
able. The  whole  plateau  seemed  aban- 
doned, when  all  at  once  we  turned  to  the 
right  and  came  full  into  long  trenches  of 
Spahis,  peering  out  at  us  from  little  scooped- 
in  shelters  in  the  very  walls  we  brushed. 

From  this  high  point  of  vantage  we 
looked  out  cautiously  over  the  wide  field  of 
the  bombardment.  German  shells  were 
bursting  down  at  our  right,  throwing  up 
thick,  brownish  clouds  of  smoke.  Far 
across  the  plain,  to  the  left  and  right, 


NOTRE  DAME  DE  LORETTE   139 

French  shells  were  wreaking  havoc  among 
the  German  trenches,  rolling  up  in  rapid 
white  clouds,  for  all  the  world  like  the  sud- 
den released  steam  of  a  giant  siren.  We 
were  in  the  direct  line  of  fire,  French  batter- 
ies, perhaps  a  mile  back  of  us,  firing  in  series 
of  three  and  four,  the  sky  above  us  hideous 
with  the  noise  of  their  flight,  each  flight 
marked  by  a  sound  so  prolonged  that  we 
strained  our  eyes  upward  that  we  might  be 
able  to  detect  the  passage  which  was  so  dis- 
tinct to  our  ears. 

The  sounds  of  an  artillery  bombardment 
are  curiously  distinct  and  soon  recogniz- 
able. A  battery  firing  over  your  head 
deafens  the  ear  like  the  rending,  wrench- 
ing crash  of  forked  lightning.  A  shell  ex- 
ploding on  contact  has  a  muffled,  dulled  con- 
cussion, similar  to  ordinary  blasting,  while 
the  arriving  ones,  except  those  of  extreme 
velocity,  give  warning  by  a  whining  ap- 
proach, like  the  whirr  of  a  giant  top.  The 


140          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

cry  of  the  shell  in  its  first  departure,  travel- 
ing through  the  air — the  most  impressive 
note  of  all — sounds  as  though  a  thin  sheet 
of  tin  were  being  torn  in  pieces. 

We  crossed  the  Colonel  of  a  regiment  re- 
turning from  a  tour  of  inspection.  He 
seemed  rather  surprised  to  see  us  in  this  com- 
paratively unprotected  region,  as  no  civilians 
had  been  taken  over  this  stretch  before. 
Captain  X.  and  the  Colonel  held  a  consulta- 
tion. Luckily  for  us  the  day  was  still  windy 
and  overcast,  and,  as  the  weather  conditions 
had  prevented  the  Germans  from  sending 
up  their  habitual  captive  balloon,  we  received 
permission  to  proceed,  with  many  cautions. 

"You  are  in  luck,"  said  Lieutenant  X. 
"We  can  go  as  far  as  the  Chapel  of  Notre 
Dame  de  Lorette  itself.  You  will  see  a  nice 
sight  there.  From  now  on  we  pass  through 
captured  German  territory." 

We  stopped  at  the  first  German  line 
captured  in  that  great  onward  sweep  which 


NOTRE  DAME  DE  LORETTE       141 

made  the  French  masters  of  the  plateau. 
As  luck  would  have  it,  Captain  X.  and  a  de- 
tachment of  the  Nth  Regiment,  heroes  of 
that  very  first  assault,  were  quartered  in  the 
next  trench.  He  stood  up  on  the  battered 
wall  to  point  out  to  us  the  exact  locality  of 
the  charge,  recounting  the  graphic  details, 
while  his  men  listened  below,  nodding  in  ap- 
proval.* 

"It  was  on  the  9th  of  March,  at  4  o'clock 
in  the  morning.  We  had  been  standing  in 
ice  and  water  for  months.  There  will  never 
be  anything  like  that  again.  Only  those 
who  have  been  through  it  can  understand. 
Twenty-five  of  us,  the  best  soldiers  in  the 
army,  too,  had  their  feet  frozen  that  night 
— amputated.  Well,  we  got  tired  of  cooling 
our  limbs  in  iceboxes — anything  to  keep  the 
blood  in  circulation.  When  we  got  the  or- 
der to  charge  we  sprang  at  it  with  a  will,  I 

*  While  correcting  the  proof  of  this  book  the  author  re- 
ceived news  of  the  death  of  Captain  X.  at  Fouchez,  in  the 
last  great  French  offensive. 


142          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

can  tell  you.  You  see  the  German  trench 
over  there — sixty,  seventy  meters?  You 
see  what  the  ground  is  like  now?  Imagine 
it  on  the  9th  of  March,  at  4  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  with  the  snow  and  the  ice  and  the 
pools  of  water  and  the  holes  of  the  marmites. 
That's  what  we  went  over.  When  the 
Bosches  saw  us  coming  they  were  so  sur- 
prised they  thought  we  were  coming  over  to 
get  warm. 

'  'Are  you  surrendering?'  they  called  to 
us. 

'  'Find  out  for  yourselves,'  we  cried. 

"They  found  out.  When  we  were  in 
among  them  they  surrendered  quick  enough, 
all  right.  A  lot  of  them  were  down  in  their 
bomb-proof  holes,  too  cold  and  stiff  to  get 
out  quickly.  We  got  them  like  rats.  It's  a 
dirty  bit  of  ground  now,  but  you  should  have 
seen  it  then!" 

What  he  said  was  repeated  to  us  often. 
In  this  trench  warfare  the  last  charge  is 


rarely  made  at  a  distance  of  more  than  fifty 
yards.  It's  all  over  in  ten  seconds,  and  the 
very  depth  and  completeness  of  the  German 
shelter  often  leaves  them  prisoners  before 
they  can  struggle  to  the  surface  to  meet  the 
sudden  onrush. 

We  wound  along  over  the  Grande  Ep- 
eron,  the  Eperon  des  Spahis,  toward  the 
Blanche  Voie,  the  third  and  last  of  the  ridges, 
to  our  destination,  the  Chapel  of  the  Notre 
Dame  de  Lorette.  We  crossed  second, 
third,  and  fourth  lines,  taken  by  the  bayonet 
from  the  Germans.  Here  the  region  was  so 
exposed  and  the  massacre  had  been  so  com- 
plete that  even  if  the  time  had  been  there 
it  had  been  too  dangerous  to  bury  the  dead 
in  the  open  field.  Some  corpses  had  been 
thrown  over  the  side  of  the  trench,  at  a 
spade's  distance.  Most  of  them  had  been 
thrown  into  the  wall  itself,  roughly  covered 
over,  and  sprinkled  with  quicklime.  The 
bare  crosses  outside  grew  up  like  weeds. 


144          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

The  stench  was  nauseating.  At  every  step 
now  a  uniform  showed  through  the  wall, 
spattered  with  quicklime — an  arm  or  a  leg. 
I  remember  a  waxy  knee  sticking  out  (R. 
said  it  was  the  color  of  an  apricot)  over 
which  the  flies  had  settled  in  a  black,  swarm- 
ing screen.  The  spectacle  of  death  was  so 
haunting,  so  near  and  so  vast  that  it  seemed 
as  though  we  were  passing  among  the  living 
dead,  mutilated  and  deformed  beyond  recog- 
nition, but  yet  with  some  whispered  echo  of 
life  still  fluttering  in  them.  What  a  pas- 
sage it  must  have  been  at  night,  lighted  only 
by  faint  rays  of  the  moon  or  muffled  lan- 
terns! But  I  suppose,  as  the  human  mind 
has  accustomed  itself  to  all  things,  that  even 
the  soldiers  who  creep  along  these  haunted 
paths  to  the  front  in  the  obliterating  night 
pay  little  attention  to  these  reminders  of 
their  personal  danger. 

In  the  midst  of  this  charnel  field  we  heard 
a  sudden  oath : 


NOTRE  DAME  DE  LORETTE   145 

"Nom  de  Dieu!  What's  the  matter  with 
them?  They'll  be  firing  into  our  lines  next! 
A  hundred  yards  short,  and  fifty  to  the  left. 
Tell  them  that." 

We  turned  a  corner  and  came  upon  an 
officer  with  field  glasses,  directing  the  fire 
of  some  battery  we  had  left  miles  behind. 
Beyond  the  plain  a  white  cloud  was  rolling 
lazily  away.  At  his  side,  a  Corporal,  with 
telephone  strapped  to  his  head,  was  repeat- 
ing: 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?  You're 
short,  short;  a  hundred  meters  short,  and 
fifty  to  the  left." 

We  waited  a  moment,  hearing  the  tearing, 
tinny  screech  of  a  shell  traveling  above  us. 
Then  a  breathless  moment,  and  before  us,  in 
the  distance,  an  upthrown  mass  of  dirt  and 
stone  showed  how  absolutely  the  correction 
had  been  made.  The  officer  grumbled : 

"That's  better,  much  better.  That's 
something  like  it.  Tell  them  to  hold  that." 


146          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

"Good;  very  good.  Hold  that,"  repeated 
the  operator. 

He  did  not  turn  at  our  approach,  or  of- 
fer a  greeting.  His  business  was  too  im- 
portant for  such  details. 

Despite  an  inclination  to  tarry,  we  went 
on  for  the  last  stretch  toward  the  chapel. 

"Just  as  well,"  said  Lieutenant  X.  to  me. 
"An  observation  post  like  that  is  just  what 
the  Bosches  are  looking  for." 

At  one  point  the  meagre  trenches  broke 
completely,  flattened  out  for  thirty  yards. 
Lieutenant  X.,  crouching  down,  ran  hastily 
ahead  to  find  the  way,  and  presently  waved 
us  on.  It  was  not  a  passage  to  our  liking, 
and  we  were  forced  to  take  it  at  intervals. 
Somehow  the  realization  of  what  a  shell 
might  mean  had  come  over  our  imaginations 
through  these  hideous  fields.  We  went  on, 
through  trenches  with  some  semblance  of  or- 
der, though  not  much,  still  among  the  pro- 
jecting corpses,  brushing  our  way  through 


the  flies  that  rose  heavily  from  the  dead  at 
the  intrusion  of  the  living — clouds  and 
clouds  of  flies,  sticky,  lazy  black  flies,  unlike 
any  that  I  had  ever  seen  before.  Ahead  of 
me  Lieutenant  X.,  pointing  to  shoes  that  in 
spots  projected  from  the  mud,  said: 

"That's  French.  That  fellow's  a  Bosche 
— and  that  one,  too.  I  can  tell  by  the  shoes 
— they're  different.  A  bit  more  now,  and 
we  are  at  the  chapel." 

We  covered  another  space  of  shallow, 
foul  trenches — irregular,  broken,  whipped 
back  and  forth  by  the  German  fire,  and  came 
to  a  halt. 

"There  it  is." 

"Where?" 

"There." 

"What?" 

"The  chapel." 

"The  Chapel  of  Notre  Dame  de  Lorette?" 

"There  is  the  Chapel  of  Notre  Dame  de 
Lorette." 


148          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

He  reached  out,  and  in  the  muddy  swirl  of 
overturned  earth  struck  a  cluster  of  broken 
bricks.  That  was  the  Chapel  of  Notre 
Dame  de  Lorette — bricks  and  mud  con- 
founded, churned  into  an  ugly,  unrecogniz- 
able mass!  Not  one  stone  remained  upon 
another.  It  was  as  though  the  earth  had 
opened  and  sucked  the  chapel  down  and 
closed,  boiling  and  seething,  over  it  again. 
We  stood  here  a  long  moment  looking  back 
at  the  three  billowing  slopes  rolling  behind 
us  like  three  tidal  waves,  at  the  most  hideous 
and  desolate  spectacle  I  ever  expect  to  wit- 
ness. It  could  not  be  called  earth — it  was 
something  unrecognizable  and  monstrous — 
an  earth  that  had  gone  mad  and  become  a 
sea — a  sea  of  mud  and  stones,  a  yellow, 
nasty,  boiling  sea,  with  churning,  leaping 
swirls.  The  whole  was  so  foul  and  so  hid- 
eous that  it  seemed  as  though  we  had  reached 
a  place  so  accursed  on  the  earth's  surface 
that  we  were  standing  among  the  excre- 


NOTRE  DAME  DE  LORETTE   149 

ments  of  nature  itself.  That  human  beings 
had  lived,  fought,  advanced,  and  retreated 
over  this  distortion  was  absolutely  incompre- 
hensible, except  for  the  haunting  reminder 
of  the  tiny  pointed  crosses  stark  against  the 
leaden  sky,  the  stench  of  the  trenches  and 
the  buzzing,  lazy,  sticky  flies.  When  the 
Day  of  the  Last  Judgment  comes,  and  the 
earth  yawns  and  gives  up  its  dead,  it  must 
look  something  like  this.  We  said  little  to 
each  other  as  we  stood  there,  each  searching 
among  his  own  thoughts. 

"We  had  better  get  back  to  the  other 
trenches,"  said  Lieutenant  X.,  with  an  esti- 
mating glance  at  the  spot  where  we  stood. 
"It's  a  miracle  they  haven't  seen  us." 

We  followed  willingly.  An  occasional 
rifle  shot  went  stinging  above  us,  probably 
aimed  at  the  observation  post  up  the  hill. 
We  left  the  abandoned  trenches  we  had  been 
following — abandoned  as  though  the  pollu- 
tion and  desecration  through  which  they; 


150          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

had  passed  were  too  terrible  even  for  modern 
warfare.  A  group  of  soldiers  crossed  us,  go- 
ing forward  to  relieve  their  comrades.  At 
our  sides  a  soldier's  head  peered  out  at  us 
from  a  blanketed  recess  in  the  wall — 
blanketed  to  keep  off  the  flies.  These 
hasty  resting  places,  where  they  passed  the 
day  in  long  slumber  (for  night  is  the  time 
of  activity  and  watchfulness),  were  mere 
pockets  in  the  mud — all  very  well  in  sum- 
mer, but  what  must  they  be  in  periods  of 
driving  storm  and  icy  cold!  Corpses  were 
still  about  us  everywhere,  announced  by  the 
stenches  and  carrion  flies,  sticky  as  wet  blot- 
ting paper.  I  can  remember  still  the  repul- 
sion, the  physical  shudder  that  went  through 
me  when  they  landed  clumsily  on  my  hand. 
And  even  in  the  midst  of  this,  as  we  looked, 
the  sun  came  shining  out,  and  over  the 
plains,  so  quiet  and  calm,  half  a  dozen  vil- 
lagers came  smiling  forth,  unterrified  and 
oblivious  of  this  carnage  in  the  air! 


NOTRE  DAME  DE  LORETTE       151 

The  sounds  of  bombardment  had  lessened 
on  each  side.  The  groups  of  soldiers  we 
passed  in  their  shelters  were  busy  with  bread 
and  sausages. 

"We'll  have  a  bit  of  calm  now,"  said  Lieu- 
tenant X.  "Each  usually  respects  the  lunch 
hour." 

Lieutenant  X.  and  I  were  ahead,  our 
party  cautiously  strung  out  for  about  a  quar- 
ter of  a  mile.  We  had  just  greeted  a  couple 
of  sentinels  at  the  opening  of  a  bomb-proof 
shelter,  and  started  down  a  long,  straight 
stretch  of  trench  directly  in  the  line  of  the 
German  batteries,  when,  without  the  slight- 
est warning,  something  horribly  close  and 
sudden  went  whining  past  our  heads.  The 
next  moment,  thirty  yards  ahead,  and  about 
fifteen  at  the  side  of  the  trench,  a  mass  of 
earth  and  rock  rose  violently  into  the  air.  It 
was  as  intimate  an  acquaintance  with  a  Ger- 
man shell  as  I  have  any  desire  to  experience. 
We  scrambled  back,  crouching  down  against 


152          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

the  side  of  the  boyau  at  each  succeeding 
screech,  and  gained  the  protection  of  the 
bomb-proof  shelter,  where  the  soldiers  and 
several  of  our  party  had  already  disap- 
peared. Lieutenant  X.  went  back  to  reas- 
sure the  rest  of  the  party,  who  had  been 
frightened  out  of  their  wits,  believing  that 
we  had  been  caught.  As  the  bombardment 
might  continue  for  any  length  of  time,  we 
decided  to  go  on.  And  a  very  uncomfort- 
able passage  it  was,  with  shells  bursting  up 
and  down  the  hill,  one  in  particular  coming 
as  close  to  our  party  at  the  rear  as  the 
first  had  come  to  us.  However,  our  discom- 
fiture furnished  the  greatest  amusement  to 
the  sentinels,  who  watched  our  going  from 
the  mouth  of  the  bomb-proof  shelter,  slap- 
ping their  knees  in  delight  and  crying! 

"Aha! — the  civilians;  they're  getting  a 
taste  of  it  now!  Look  at  them  scamper!" 

We  went  along  as  fast  as  we  could,  with- 
out much  thought  of  dignity,  dropping 


NOTRE  DAME  DE  LORETTE   153 

down  at  each  warning  approach,  gradually 
and  gratefully  hearing  the  shells  falling  far- 
ther and  farther  behind.  Explosions  on  the 
hillside  were  plainly  visible,  the  most  im- 
pressive being  a  few  shrapnel  shells  which 
burst  a  hundred  feet  in  the  air  above  us,  but 
fortunately  badly  aimed. 

Once  back  in  the  deeper  boyaux,  we 
waited  for  the  party  to  assemble  and  to  as- 
sure ourselves  that  no  harm  had  been  done. 
I  remember  the  feeling  of  delicious  satisfac- 
tion that  came  to  us  as  we  continued  through 
the  back  trenches,  so  deep,  so  clean-cut,  and 
so  disciplined,  as  though,  after  the  waste  and 
filth  through  which  we  had  passed,  this  were 
civilization  itself. 

We  left  the  boyaux  and  returned  by  the 
wood.  A  few  batteries  were  firing  intermit- 
tently, and  in  the  riddled  trees  the  strangest 
of  all  notes — the  notes  of  birds  singing,  as 
though  nature,  too,  could  readjust  itself  to 
any  condition. 


154          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

We  lunched  at  regimental  headquarters,  a 
most  delicious  lunch,  heightened,  perhaps, 
by  the  comfortable  feeling  of  what  we  had 
left  behind  us.  And  yet,  as  I  remember  it 
now,  our  repast  consisted  of  hard-boiled 
eggs,  sliced  ham  and  beef,  a  jar  of  pate  de 
foie  gras,  and  a  dish  of  apricots.  We 
lunched  merrily,  with  spirits  that  seemed 
suddenly  released,  as  though  by  common  con- 
sent making  no  allusion  to  the  impres- 
sions of  the  morning.  Only,  I  remember, 
when  the  apricots  were  passed,  R.  shook  his 
head  and  turned  away,  and  I  knew  of  what 
he  was  thinking. 


A  VILLAGE  IN  SHREDS 


CHAPTER  VI 

A    VILLAGE    IN    SHREDS 

LUNCH  over,  we  were  shown  a  great 
hole  blown  through  the  opposite  room 
three  days  before,  to  dispel  any  impression 
of  security  which  we  might  have  formed. 
Our  next  destination  was  the  village  of  Ab- 
lain  St.  Nazaire,  conquered  from  the  Ger- 
mans a  month  before,  a  village  that  ex- 
tended at  the  foot  of  the  three  ridges  which 
we  had  visited  in  the  morning.  A  quick 
passage  through  the  woods,  with  soldiers 
burrowed  like  rabbits  and  gophers  at  every 
step,  a  re-awakened  havoc  in  the  air  from 
batteries  hidden  at  perhaps  fifty  paces  from 
us,  and  we  gained  the  boyaux  which,  after 
a  brief  moment,  brought  us  to  the  sheltered 
region  of  the  Eperon  des  Arabes.  Spahis 
in  olive  uniforms  were  encamped  in  long 


158          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

lines  just  under  the  crest.  Shallow  dug- 
outs had  been  scooped  into  the  soft  white 
earth,  some  protected  by  crude  thatching, 
most  of  them  nothing  more  than  pockets  in 
the  earth.  In  each  hole  from  two  to  three 
human  beings  were  stretched  in  insensible 
fatigue,  though  at  every  moment  the  air  was 
shattered  with  the  tremendous  explosions  of 
batteries  not  two  hundred  yards  away. 
This  was  perhaps  the  crudest  form  of  life 
we  had  seen,  the  nearest  return  to  the  cave- 
man existence. 

Here  we  found,  in  a  dugout  purposely 
thrust  to  a  more  protecting  depth,  the  pet  of 
the  regiment,  a  little  fox  terrier  bitch,  with 
three  puppies  which  she  had  borne  and 
reared  under  fire,  quite  untroubled  by  the 
constant  uproar.  The  officers,  Frenchmen 
in  every  instance,  lived  with  the  soldiers, 
their  quarters  a  little  better,  rough  wood 
cabins  reinforced  with  saplings.  They,  too, 
complained  of  the  rats. 


^  • .  - v  - '  .  ~ 

^tCfc ''  ^T^  'i^uL 

• 


THE    ROAD    THROUGH    MoNT    &T.    ELOI. 
From  t/ie  drawing  by   Walter  Hale. 


A  VILLAGE  IN  SHREDS  159 

We  continued  along  the  ridge,  with  occa- 
sional guarded  ascents  to  points  of  observa- 
tion, from  which  Hale  was  able  to  take  re- 
markable photographs  of  the  panorama  of 
the  battle,  with  the  French  shells  bursting  at 
a  dozen  points  in  the  distance.  At  every 
moment  the  cannonading  increased  in  inten- 
sity, evidently  protecting  the  captured 
trench  at  Zed  or  preparing  the  way  for  a 
night  advance.  From  this  point  of  vantage 
we  could  look  back  over  the  wooded  slopes, 
where  the  French  batteries  must  be  con- 
cealed. I  suppose  at  this  time  fully  one 
hundred  and  fifty  guns  were  in  action  within 
our  radius,  yet,  despite  the  utmost  vigilance, 
I  was  able  to  detect  only  one  emplacement, 
and  that  in  a  fringe  of  woods  directly  op- 
posite, aided  by  the  marks  of  the  searching 
fire  which  had  left  a  hundred  ugly  holes  in 
the  meadow  between  us. 

We  wound  down  the  ridge  to  the  plain  be- 
low. At  one  encampment — for  dugouts 


160          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

lined  the  sides  as  we  descended — Ponsot,  of 
the  Foreign  Department,  carried  off  a  work 
of  art  by  a  local  genius — a  bust  of  William 
Pasha,  cleverly  hewn  of  soft,  white  stone, 
caricaturing  the  Emperor  in  a  Turkish  fez. 
In  the  bomb-proof  shelter  at  the  foot  a  sol- 
dier, perceiving  that  we  were  Americans,  in- 
troduced himself,  asking  us  to  transmit  news 
of  him  to  New  York.  It  was  the  chauffeur 
of  William  Salomon,  the  banker,  a  personal 
friend  of  mine.  He  was  in  the  best  of 
spirits,  confident  as  every  one  with  whom  we 
conversed  in  this  region,  sure  of  the  indi- 
vidual superiority  of  the  French  soldiers,  ad- 
mitting grudgingly  the  strength  of  the  Ger- 
man artillery,  but  certain  that  that,  too, 
would  shortly  be  counteracted. 

"If  it  were  not  for  their  guns,  we  would 
walk  through  them  like  paper." 

From  the  shelter  back  of  the  ridge,  we 
looked  out  at  a  broad  expanse  of  field.  The 
highway  ran  from  the  foot  of  the  slope  where 


A  VILLAGE  IN  SHREDS  161 

we  stood  a  quarter  of  a  mile  straight  out,  and 
turned  for  an  ascent  of  half  a  mile.  Our  au- 
tomobiles were  parked  at  the  top,  with  or- 
ders for  one,  the  largest,  to  come  down  later 
and  get  us.  This  arrangement  gave  place 
to  an  excited  discussion.  It  seemed  that  the 
region  was  under  such  direct  exposure  to  the 
German  batteries  that  it  had  been  deemed 
unsafe  and  forbidden  for  general  passage. 
Even  that  morning,  two  Red  Cross  men  with 
a  stretcher  on  wheels,  who  had  taken  the 
road,  had  been  bombarded  for  over  half  an 
hour.  However,  it  was  too  late  to  transmit 
new  orders,  and  we  would  have  to  await  re- 
sults. They  came,  fast  enough,  and  fur- 
nished an  extraordinary  spectacle  to  those 
who  remained  behind. 

Three  of  us  accepted  the  invitation  to  en- 
ter the  village  of  Ablain  St.  Nazaire  with 
Captain  X,  the  Major  of  the  Spahis  and  two 
subordinate  officers.  As  we  started,  a 
French  soldier  arrived  from  the  front  with  a 


162          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

German  prisoner  in  charge.  He  was  a 
young  boy,  scarcely  20,  from  the  north- 
eastern provinces,  evidently  quite  uncertain 
as  to  whether  his  destination  was  a  prison  or 
a  soup  kettle.  Physically  he  was  a  wreck — 
thin,  wasted  away,  evidently  a  consumptive. 
Officers  and  soldiers  crowded  about  him  dur- 
ing his  examination  by  Captain  X,  exclaim- 
ing: 

"Poor  devil!  Think  of  them  using  men 
like  that!  He  isn't  fit  to  carry  a  soup 
pail!" 

If  he  were  a  significant  element  of  the 
German  forces — and  the  officers  assured  me 
that  almost  15  per  cent,  of  the  late  prisoners 
were  just  such  weaklings — certainly  the 
Germans  have  been  forced  to  draw  on  ele- 
ments of  the  population  which  no  French 
regiment  would  accept.  Gradually  his  ter- 
ror seemed  to  disappear  under  the  unex- 
pected friendliness  of  his  reception.  He 
had  been  found  in  a  captured  trench,  stunned 


THE    RUINED    CHURCH    AT    ABLAIN    ST.    NAZAIRE. 

From  the  drawing  by    Walter  Hale. 
Beyond  the  firing  seen  on  the  left,  is  the  sugar  mill  at  Souchez. 


A  VILLAGE  IN  SHREDS  163 

by  the  havoc  of  the  hand  grenades.  For 
months  he  had  been  at  the  front,  seeing  ab- 
solutely nothing.  Unfortunately,  I  was  un- 
able to  converse  with  him  and  put  the  ques- 
tions to  him  I  wanted.  What  an  extraor- 
dinary, revealing  experience,  and  what  an 
unreal,  multiple  world  it  must  have  seemed 
to  him,  after  long  months  in  face  of  the  men- 
acing desert  of  the  enemy's  lines,  to  arrive 
now  through  the  swarming  intrenchments 
and  to  perceive  the  enormous  reserves  crowd- 
ing every  hamlet  and  every  village  for  miles 
back;  where  before,  as  far  as  his  eyes  could 
see,  from  day  to  day,  not  a  human  speck  had 
broken  the  monotony !  A  couple  of  soldiers 
cut  the  brass  buttons  with  the  imperial  crown 
from  his  shoulders.  Captain  X  explained 
this  manoeuvre  to  me.  The  soldiers  manu- 
facture rings  out  of  the  steel  rims  of 
the  enemy's  shells,  inserting  in  them  the 
brass  crown  cut  from  the  prisoners'  buttons, 
which  they  send  back  as  prized  mementoes  to 


164.          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

their  families.  We  took  several  photo- 
graphs, an  officer  exclaiming  to  the  soldier 
who  had  him  in  charge : 

"Stand  up  and  show  the  difference  be- 
tween a  French  Poilu  and  a  Bosche." 

Which  he  did,  amid  much  laughter. 

There  was  something  so  feeble,  so  unwar- 
like,  so  piteously  undestructive  about  this 
shattered,  frightened  young  German,  so  evi- 
dently condemned  by  disease  itself,  that  it 
brought  home  to  us  the  grimness  and  the 
tyranny  of  war  more  than  anything  else  we 
had  seen. 

Leaving  the  rest  of  the  party  behind,  we 
started  for  Ablain  St.  Nazaire.  If  Betheny 
and  Blangy  had  awed  us  with  the  spectacle 
of  destruction  and  ravage,  this  village  sur- 
passed all  that  we  had  imagined.  It  lay  lit- 
erally in  shreds,  stark,  twisted,  a  hideous 
skeleton,  unrecognizable  in  shape.  Every 
inch  had  run  in  blood,  every  shattered  house 
had  been  a  cemetery.  The  roofs  and  walls 


A  VILLAGE  IN  SHREDS  165 

were  torn  and  tattered,  as  though  so  much 
flimsy  cotton,  as  though  a  hurricane  was  still 
howling  through  them.  We  were  now  in 
the  centre  of  a  horse  shoe  of  French  bat- 
teries— the  same  tearing,  tinny,  traveling 
screech  of  shells  crossing  and  recrossing  con- 
stantly above  our  heads;  winding  no  longer 
through  houses  and  cellars,  but  through 
strewn  heaps  of  debris,  with  immense  splin- 
ters of  masonry  peeled  off  like  so  much  tim- 
ber. 

We  turned  aside  to  visit  an  historic  spot — 
the  ruins  of  a  house  held  for  long  months  by 
the  French,  in  the  full  teeth  of  a  desperate 
resistance,  while  still  the  German  lines  ran 
on  the  slopes  overhead,  so  close  that  at  times 
only  a  wall  divided  them,  across  which  they 
could  hear  each  other  conversing.  At  one 
corner  we  were  shown  the  pump  where  for 
weeks  the  French  had  passed  out  pails  on 
long  sticks  to  take  the  water,  at  a  spot  liter- 
ally swept  by  muskets.  As  we  returned  to 


166          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

the  main  street,  a  wounded  soldier  was  re- 
turning on  a  stretcher,  one  bloody  arm  ex- 
posed— a  clammy,  purple,  repulsive  mass  of 
flesh — face  tense  with  pain,  teeth  gritted, 
and  glazed,  unseeing  eyes — a  hero  of  a  con- 
quered trench,  who  had  lain  twenty-four 
hours  before  they  could  get  him  out.  They 
carried  him  into  the  tented  inclosure  of  the 
first  aid,  and  through  the  uplifted  flap  I  saw 
the  surgeon  hastily  cutting  away  the  pol- 
luted shirt  from  the  lacerated  body. 

"How  many  have  been  brought  in  since 
last  night?"  our  guide  asked. 

"Over  two  hundred." 

"Seriously  wounded?" 

"About  forty." 

We  went  on,  passing  occasional  bandaged 
stragglers  returning  from  the  fire.  Half 
way  through  the  village  we  turned  aside 
again  for  an  inspection  of  what  had  once 
been  a  chateau,  slipping  cautiously  over  a 
dishevelled  meadow  encumbered  with  heavy 


THE  PUMP  AT  ABLAIN  ST.  NAZAIRE,  WHERE  ONLY  THE  WALL 
SEPARATED  THE  FRENCH  AND  THE  GERMANS. 


A  VILLAGE  IN  SHREDS  167 

German  barbed  protections,  solid  chevaux 
de  frize,  with  heavy,  wicked  teeth,  like  the 
jaws  of  an  animal  trap.  The  crumbled 
ruins  of  the  chateau  were  surrounded  by  a 
marshy,  slime-covered  moat,  captured  Ger- 
man trenches  still  visible  beyond  them  in  the 
scummy  jungle  protected  by  the  same  hid- 
eous iron  man-traps.  And  yet,  in  the  face 
of  shell  and  machine  gun,  over  this  thorny, 
trapped  refuse  through  which  we  clambered 
with  difficulty,  slipping  at  every  step,  sol- 
diers of  France  had  swarmed  victoriously! 
How  was  it  humanly  possible  1  I  stood 
shaking  my  head,  absolutely  unable  to  be- 
lieve it. 

From  where  we  were  the  three  great 
hills  of  the  Notre  Dame  de  Lorette  slope 
extended  stark  before  our  eyes,  so  de- 
nuded, so  white  from  the  iron  sowing,  that 
they  seemed  like  bleached  bones  shining  in 
the  sun.  These  three  hills,  so  insignificant 
on  the  map,  had  represented  three  battles  of 


168          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

the  Civil  War.  I  asked  what  had  been  the 
German  losses  in  this  vast  cemetery. 

"Over  a  hundred  thousand,"  said  an  offi- 
cer. 

It  is  sucH  an  incident  as  this  that  makes 
you  comprehend  the  slow,  bleeding-to-death 
process  of  this  locked  warfare — that  it  is  not 
a  war  of  geographical  advance,  but  of  sub- 
traction, of  deadly  mathematical  reckoning 
up  at  each  week's  end. 

Back  once  more  in  the  village,  we  heard  a 
new  sound,  the  warning,  whirring  sound  of 
German  shells  crossing  above  us  among  the 
French.  At  the  first  note  we  stopped, 
ready  to  take  to  a  boyau,  listening,  wonder- 
ing— was  the  village  about  to  be  bombarded, 
or  what  was  the  destination?  The  shell  con- 
tinued, and  a  dull  explosion  came  at  the  end 
of  an  appreciable  moment — then  a  second 
and  a  third  in  rapid  succession.  Captain 
X.  made  a  wry  face,  cursing  under  his 
breath : 


A  VILLAGE  IN  SHREDS  169 

"It's  the  automobile.  They're  shelling 
our  automobile." 

That  might  be  true,  but  after  this  morn- 
ing's experience  it  was  no  pleasant  sensa- 
tion to  stand  there,  knowing  that  we  were  in 
the  direct  line  of  the  German  fire,  wonder- 
ing at  what  moment  the  range  might  shorten 
and  the  shells  come  exploring  the  stone 
streets. 

We  continued,  however,  to  the  end  of  the 
village,  for  a  visit  to  what  had  been  the  casino 
of  the  German  officers.  Here  we  found  an 
underground  cellar,  coquettishly  fixed  up  as 
a  club  room,  papered  and  generously  lit  by 
lamps,  with  a  piano  at  one  end,  where  a 
month  before  the  enemy's  staff  gathered  at 
cards  or  to  troll  out  their  drinking  choruses. 
The  casino  was  now  converted  into  a  station 
for  the  Red  Cross,  bandages  everywhere  and 
cases  of  instruments.  While  we  were  still 
conversing,  a  group  of  wounded  arrived,  and 
we  ceded  our  place.  Outside,  in  the  court- 


170          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

yard,  two  of  the  hospital  corps,  with  the  Red 
Cross  on  their  arms,  were  standing  with 
great  tin  receptacles  strapped  to  their  backs, 
nozzles  in  their  hands — back  from  sprinkling 
quicklime  on  the  latest  corpses.  A  soldier, 
slightly  wounded  in  the  arm,  returning  to  be 
bandaged,  was  excitedly  discussing  the  re- 
sults of  the  night's  attack  in  which  he  had 
participated. 

"We've  got  them!  We've  got  them! 
Only  we  must  send  reinforcements.  If 
they'll  send  reinforcements,  we'll  clean  the 
whole  gang  out  to-night." 

He  was  like  a  possessed  maniac,  with 
strange  wild  eyes  and  nerves  tense  to  the 
breaking  point.  In  his  enthusiasm  he  be- 
gan to  discuss  with  our  officers  explaining 
what  should  be  done,  fearful  lest  an  oppor- 
tunity should  be  lost.  The  officers  an- 
swered him  fraternally,  calming  him  with 
ready  answers,  patting  him  on  the  shoulder 
like  a  child. 


A  VILLAGE  IN  SHREDS  171 

From  here  I  got  perhaps  the  quickest  sen- 
sation of  battle.  The  wounded  returning, 
the  Red  Cross  stretchers  going  and  coming, 
the  soldier  from  the  thick  of  it,  still  uncon- 
trolled, seeing  visions  of  carnage  and  blood 
lust,  added  to  the  indescribable  uproar  of  the 
cannonade,  brought  it  all  so  close  that  it 
seemed  as  though,  at  the  next  moment,  we 
would  be  caught  up  and  swept  headlong  into 
the  caldron  itself. 

As  we  returned,  we  met  the  General  of 
the  Division,  who  warned  us  from  the  open 
streets  into  the  boyaux,  and  confirmed  our 
surmises  that  our  arriving  car  had  unchained 
a  persistent  cannonading  of  the  hill  and 
highway. 

Back  at  the  foot  of  the  Grand  Eperon 
we  found  that  our  party  had  witnessed  an 
extraordinary  spectacle  from  the  shelter  of 
the  bomb-proof.  ~No  sooner  had  our  auto- 
mobile spun  down  the  open  slope  and  turned 
toward  the  sheltering  edges,  than  the  Ger- 


172          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

man  batteries  had  opened  fire.  From  their 
point  of  vantage  they  had  witnessed  the  ex- 
plosion of  a  dozen  shells.  The  Germans, 
with  mathematical  precision,  as  though  in 
confident  display  of  their  command,  planted 
one  shell  at  the  beginning  of  the  lower  road, 
one  shell  at  the  turning,  and  one  farther 
up,  repeating  this  operation  again  and  again, 
with  the  same  progressive  accuracy,  tearing 
large  holes  in  the  road.  One  shell  struck  on 
the  highway  and  ricocheted  for  yards  before 
its  ultimate  explosion.  This  demonstra- 
tion of  their  ability  was  quite  convincing. 
We  unanimously  decided  to  make  a  wide 
detour  on  foot,  a  journey  of  a  mile  or  so, 
which  led  us  through  an  artillery  encamp- 
ment at  the  moment  when  the  cooks  were 
busy  at  the  steaming  kettles. 

When  we  rejoined  our  cars  we  found  them 
all  there,  the  chauffeur  we  had  left  behind 
having  quietly  returned  over  the  bom- 
barded route,  reporting  the  road  wrecked  in 


A  VILLAGE  IN  SHREDS  173 

half  a  dozen  places.  We  congratulated  him, 
without,  however,  the  slightest  personal  re- 
gret, the  possibility  of  remaining  en  panne 
on  that  open  climb  having  been  at  the  bot- 
tom of  every  thought. 

The  quiet  of  the  rear,  the  calm  of  routine 
lives,  gradually  replaced  the  din  and  fury 
of  the  front.  Groups  were  lounging  in  the 
villages,  mingling  with  the  women  and 
young  girls,  playing  with  the  children. 
Soldiers  were  returning  on  hay  racks  from 
the  long  day  in  the  field.  At  other  turns  we 
found  crowds  playing  football,  shouting  and 
clamoring.  We  stopped  presently  to 
quench  our  thirst  in  a  mixture  of  coffee  and 
water.  In  the  inside  of  the  village  buvette 
three  soldiers  at  a  table  in  the  corner  were 
reveling  over  the  luxury  of  little  steaks  which 
they  had  cooked  on  the  nearby  stove.  Upon 
our  arrival  they  volunteered  to  help  the  land- 
lady make  us  fresh  coffee.  I  joined  them 
for  a  moment,  and  found  them  in  the  best  of 


174          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

spirits.  The  food  was  good  enough  (in 
fact,  this  is  the  testimony  of  all  the  soldiers) , 
only  they  were  gourmets,  they  needed  to 
whet  their  appetite  a  little,  hence  the  steaks. 
They  entertained  a  great  contempt  of  the 
German  soldiers  in  front  of  them,  or,  rather, 
a  proud  confidence  in  their  own  superiority. 

"If  it  wasn't  for  their  artillery  they 
wouldn't  stand  long  before  our  poilus." 

Man  to  man,  it  is  astonishing  the  pride 
and  self-confidence  of  the  French  soldier. 

Another  bearded  private  came  in  with  a 
great  kettle  of  cauliflower  and  potatoes 
which  he  was  boiling  down  into  a  soup  for  a 
group  of  comrades  in  the  other  room.  I 
joined  them.  The  cook  was  a  volunteer,  a 
man  of  45. 

"I  have  a  son  in  the  Argonne,"  he  said 
proudly — "a  corporal  already." 

"And  you  are  all  absolutely  confident?"  I 
asked. 

He  swore  confidently  in  answer,  a  sol- 


A  VILLAGE  IN  SHREDS  175 

dier's  oath.  Then,  like  the  vieuae  grognards 
of  the  empire,  of  whom  Napoleon  said: 
"They  grumble  but  they  march,"  he  added: 

"All  the  same,  we  mustn't  attack  too 
much.  They'll  never  pass  our  lines.  We 
ought  to  hold  them,  shoot  them  down. 
They're  such  fools;  they  come  on  like  rab- 
bits." 

"And  the  winter  campaign?" 

"We're  ready.  We  have  known  it  would 
come,  for  months." 

"That  isn't  what  they  tell  the  German 
soldiers." 

"Well,  we'll  see  how  they  like  their  sur- 
prise." 

"So  no  one  talks  of  quitting?" 

"Now?  Never.  Oh,  it's  hard.  You 
can't  say  that  it  isn't  hard.  But  what  must 
be  done,  must  be  done.  We  must  give  them 
their  little  taste  of  war  at  close  quarters,  and 
when  we  finish  we  want  it  over.  We  don't 
want  to  begin  again." 


176          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

"And  you  all  understand  that?" 

"Of  course." 

We  left  a  few  francs  with  the  landlady, 
to  add  a  good  bottle  of  wine  to  these  rare 
feasts,  knowing  that  their  pride  would  not 
permit  of  a  direct  offer.  And  as  we  went, 
for  the  last  time,  we  said  fervently,  as  they 
rose  to  salute : 

"Good-bye  and  good  luck  for  the  war." 

And  a  chorus  answered  quietly,  as  though 
an  answering  prayer : 

"Merci  bien,  messieurs!     Esperons!" 


A  VISIT  TO  JOFFRE 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  VISIT   TO   JOFFEE 

MY  visit  to  General  Joffre  fortunately 
did  not  come  until  the  end  of  my 
visit  to  France.  During  my  two  trips  to  the 
front  I  had  had  abundant  opportunity  to 
study  the  morale  of  the  armies  of  the  Repub- 
lic. The  experience  had  been  a  revelation. 
The  French  army  impressed  me  as  a  battle- 
ship stripped  for  action — everything  sacri- 
ficed and  thrown  overboard,  nothing  to 
count  except  the  final  issue.  I  found  it  or- 
ganized in  accordance  with  the  most  modern 
and  scientific  business  methods.  Every  man 
must  count;  every  uniform  must  serve  its 
utmost  capability;  every  economy  in  bar- 
racks and  construction,  short  of  military 
necessity,  must  be  made  with  the  one  idea 
that  the  war  is  a  test  of  economic  forces  and 


180          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

that  therefore,  beyond  holding  the  sunken 
maze  of  fortified  trenches  securely,  another 
result  must  be  sought — to  hold  it  with 
the  least  expense.  A  veteran  of  our  Civil 
War,  seeing  a  regiment  pass  returning 
from  the  front,  might  believe  himself 
face  to  face  with  the  army  of  Grant  or 
Lee — the  same  shaggy  beards,  the  same 
uncouth,  grimy,  patched,  and  ragged  uni- 
forms, the  same  lack  of  the  jingle  and 
sparkle  of  military  parade  lost  in  the 
grim  business  of  war.  The  valetlike  eti- 
quette of  peace,  with  the  boot  polishing  and 
the  trimness  of  parade  (details  insisted  on  in 
the  belief  that  they  are  requisites  of  disci- 
pline), have  disappeared  before  a  higher 
morale — the  discipline  of  loyal,  proud,  and 
free  men  who,  consecrated  to  the  task  of  rid- 
ding their  country  of  an  invader,  have,  in  the 
spirit  of  equality  and  fraternity,  cast  away 
all  trivial  forms.  Of  the  almost  fanatical 
love  of  their  officers  by  the  men,  and  the 


A  VISIT  TO  JOFFRE  181 

religious  sense  of  fellowship  of  the  leader 
toward  his  children  of  the  spirit,  I  had 
had  a  hundred  personal  testimonies.  An 

intimate  friend,  Baron  d'H (a  lovable, 

charming  idler  in  peace,  turned  into  a 
grim  and  simple  crusader  by  the  miracle  of 
purification  and  sanctification  which  has 
swept  over  France),  had  distinguished 
himself  as  a  lieutenant  in  the  storm-swept 
battle  before  Soissons,  was  twice  mentioned 
in  general  orders  and  offered  a  captaincy. 
But  this  meant  a  transfer  to  another  regi- 
ment. He  wrote,  declining: 

"I  have  lived  with  these  men  through 
eight  long  months.  They  belong  to  me  and 
I  belong  to  them.  I  wish  either  to  die  with 
them  at  our  post  of  duty  or  to  return  to 
Paris  victorious  at  their  head." 

Remembering  such  personal  instances,  I 
understood  the  fervor  of  a  returned  veteran 
of  the  trenches  haranguing  a  knot  of  new 
levies  advancing  to  their  post  of  danger, 


182          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

who,  breathless  and  trembling  with  emotion, 
was  crying: 

"I  tell  you  that  our  officers  are  the  finest 
men  ever  put  on  the  earth.  It's  a  privilege 
: — I  tell  you,  a  privilege — to  die  with  them." 

Through  the  long  corridors  of  the  Val-de- 
Grace  Hospital,  back  in  Paris;  in  the  mea- 
ger, hasty  shelters  of  the  ecloppes,  where  the 
exhausted  and  slightly  wounded  were  recov- 
ering their  spent  breath,  as  it  were,  prepara- 
tory to  a  speedy  return;  in  the  exalted  at- 
mosphere of  the  little  underground  fort  at 
Betheny,  where  the  chasseurs-d-pied  had 
vowed  to  hold  what  they  had  conquered  until 
the  end,  scorning  to  be  relieved;  in  the  rid- 
dled trenches,  among  the  refuse  at  Blangy, 
twenty  yards  from  the  German  fortifica- 
tions; over  the  Notre  Dame  slopes,  where 
the  frightfulness  of  destruction  seems  be- 
yond the  power  of  human  imagination  to 
comprehend;  in  the  storm-ridden  village  of 
Ablain  Saint-Nazaire,  with  the  wounded 


A  VISIT  TO  JOFFRE  183 

arriving  from  the  raging  conflict  itself — 
everywhere  I  had  looked  with  reverent  eyes 
on  the  glorious  spectacle  of  civilized  men 
(Republicans,  loving  the  same  ideal  of  lib- 
erty as  ourselves)  exalted  in  a  war  of  noble 
ideals,  united  in  unmilitaristic  obedience:  a 
great-hearted,  simple  family. 

Through  these  manifold  grim  channels  it 
seemed  to  me  that  the  figure  of  the  "Great 
Father,"  General  Joffre,  had  come  grad- 
ually closer.  When  the  simple  soldiers  had 
spoken  of  him,  it  had  been  with  a  reverent 
faith  in  some  superior,  kindly  wisdom.  If 
they  still  held  only  the  approximate  line  of 
the  winter,  it  was  because  he  knew  best — 
because  in  his  humanity  as  a  simple  republi- 
can citizen  he  was  asking  them  for  patience 
and  steady  nerves  rather  than  the  hazardous 
sacrifice  of  hundreds  of  thousands  of  lives 
for  a  spectacular  plunge.  Critics  might 
grumble  and  fret — they,  the  simple  soldiers, 
held  their  faith  unshaken. 


184          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

It  was  with  these  gathered,  thronging  im- 
pressions that  I  went  to  this  interview  as  the 
crowning  experience  of  a  privileged  explora- 
tion into  the  souls  of  a  great-hearted  people. 

In  company  with  Commander  C of  the 

War  Department  I  left  Paris  in  the  early 
afternoon  for  the  long  run  forward  to  our 
destination,  to  the  heart  of  the  great  military 
machine,  to  the  unique  privilege  of  convers- 
ing face  to  face  with  the  man  to  whom  a 
united  France  had  given  the  absolute  direc- 
tion of  four  million  of  her  soldiers,  in  perfect 
faith  in  his  genius  and  citizenship,  untor- 
mented  by  personal  ambitions — the  colossal 
courage  that  from  Charleroi  to  the  Marne 
reorganized  an  army  in  retreat,  freed  mili- 
tant France  from  political  tampering,  broke 
general  after  general,  division  commanders 
and  colonels  by  the  hundred,  personal 
friends,  old  comrades  (brilliant  minds  fal- 
tering for  a  moment  in  face  of  the  actual 
test) ;  purged  the  French  army  of  the  nee- 


A  VISIT  TO  JOFFRE  185 

essarily  attendant  weaknesses  and  errors  of 
democracy — not  in  the  easy  space  of  months, 
as  during  our  Civil  War,  but  in  a  few  agon- 
izing weeks,  with  the  hot  breath  of  the  vic- 
torious German  sweep  on  the  retreating 
flanks;  and  once  his  task  accomplished, 
turned  at  the  Marne,  and,  from  Belfort  to 
Paris,  at  every  point  checked  or  drove  back 
the  great  German  military  machine  and 
saved  democratic  civilization,  as  Charles 
Martel  rolled  back  Saracen  invasion  and 
kept  Europe  undefiled. 

We  arrived,  by  well-guarded  roads  and 

past  vigilant  sentinels,  at  X ,  before  a 

modest,  three-story  country  house  with  a 
meager  garden.  Once  there  an  air  of  sim- 
plicity pervaded  everything.  No  sentries 
were  without,  no  bustle  of  officers  thronging 
the  garden.  We  went  into  the  inner  hall  be- 
fore we  met  an  orderly — a  powerful,  leonine 
figure  of  a  mountaineer,  rather  a  concierge 
than  a  guard.  No  one  else  was  in  the  outer 


186          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

hall — absolute  quiet  and  calm  throughout 
the  house,  unbroken  save  for  the  low,  con- 
tinual murmur  of  officers  at  the  telephone  in 
an  opposite  room,  the  center  of  prodigious 
activity,  where  at  every  instant,  from  Swit- 
zerland to  the  coast,  messages  poured  in 
from  each  sector  of  embattled  trench. 

I  had  but  a  short  five  minutes  to  wait.  I 
remember  Lieutenant  S saying  to  me: 

"Remember  the  look  in  his  eyes — the  eyes 
especially  are  extraordinary." 

The  next  moment  I  was  signaled,  and,  en- 
tering a  library  in  the  back,  found  myself  in 
the  presence  of  General  Joffre. 

I  had  at  once  the  impression  of  meeting 
the  simplest  and  most  approachable  of  men. 
Many  years  before  I  had  met  President 
Cleveland,  and  I  still  remember  the  impres- 
sion that  he  made  upon  me  as  he  came  into 
the  room,  in  slippered  feet,  talking  to  me  as 
naturally  as  though  he  were  the  humblest 
and  most  undistinguished  of  citizens.  Yet 


A  VISIT  TO  JOFFRE  187 

this  unconscious,  direct  serenity,  completely 
devoid  of  the  dramatic  magnetism  and  con- 
scious authority  one  expects  to  find  in  great- 
ness, left  a  memory  still  clear;  I  was  awed, 
even  unaccountably  embarrassed,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  this  simple,  great  man,  utterly  uncon- 
scious of  producing  an  effect. 

The  similarity  between  Joffre  and  Cleve- 
land struck  me  immediately,  not  only  in  the 
massive  quality  of  the  man's  physical  force 
— something  implanted  and  immovable 
about  the  attitudes  of  the  body — but  par- 
ticularly in  his  quiet  loftiness  of  vision,  which 
seemed  to  have  lifted  him  so  high  in  the  tem- 
ple of  the  nation's  sanctified  heroism  as  to 
have  left  him  forgetful  of  self.  This  man 
had  not  two  attitudes,  one  for  his  family 
and  his  intimate  friends  and  one  to  astound 
and  electrify  the  multitude.  I  found  my- 
self in  the  presence  of  a  republican,  of 
a  Cincinnatus,  a  man  of  the  type  of  Grant 
and  Lincoln,  sobered  by  responsibility, 


188  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

haunted  by  the  nation's  sorrows — a  type  of 
republican  such  as  nations  sometimes  find 
in  the  purity  of  their  youthful  strength, 
rarely  in  the  middle  age  of  their  achieve- 
ment. I  do  not  intend  to  idolize  him — that 
would  be  a  most  offensive  thing  to  him.  His- 
tory will  judge  later  the  qualities  of  his  gen- 
ius. What  was  elevating  to  me  in  this  in- 
terview was  the  fact  that  he  appeared  to 
me  to  be  the  product  of  the  nation  itself. 
There  was  nothing  of  the  war  lord  about 
him — of  the  dramatic  wielder  of  destinies 
that  sweeps  ahead  the  easily  tricked  popu- 
lar imagination.  He  was  not  the  great  man 
as  the  people  dramatically  imagine  great- 
ness. He  impressed  me  as  a  man  made 
great  by  circumstances  and  the  capacity  of 
a  nation  to  engender  great  men  in  its  times 
of  need — a  man  who  had  grown  and  would 
grow  in  vision,  as  Lincoln  grew.  I  felt  im- 
mediately the  calm,  untroubled  by  personal 
considerations,  which  possessed  him.  When 


A  VISIT  TO  JOFFRE  189 

he  spoke  of  great  events  and  great  sacri- 
fices there  was  a  reverence  in  his  face  toward 
the  responsibility  he  bore  which  one  sees  on 
the  face  of  a  child  approaching  religious 
mysteries.  I  should  say  that  he  was  above 
all  a  man  of  deep  reflection  and  unshaken 
decision;  a  man  so  possessed  with  the  one 
result  sought  as  to  be  able  to  surround  him- 
self with  a  cabinet  of  brilliant,  audacious 
spirits  as  well  as  those  who  build  slowly  and 
without  risk — to  hear  and  weigh  each  con- 
flicting opinion,  to  appreciate  each,  and  to 
take  his  decision  unemotionally.  He  struck 
me  as  the  supreme  court  of  common  sense. 
Conversing  with  him,  you  received  the  feel- 
ing that  he  would  never  risk  all  on  the  cast 
of  a  die  or  put  his  faith  in  sudden  inspira- 
tion. He  is  out  to  win,  to  risk  nothing;  ab- 
solutely relentless,  seeing  war  tactics  not  as 
a  conflict  of  genius  but  as  an  irresistible  ac- 
celeration of  the  momentum  of  great  bod- 
ies. 


190          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

His  full-face,  traditional  photograph  is 
fairly  characteristic.  The  head  is  capacious 
and  set  with  the  massiveness  of  a  block ;  the 
eyebrows  and  gray  mustache  heavy  and 
overhanging.  The  eyes  are  indeed  remark- 
able, the  left  eyelid  slightly  drooping,  con- 
veying thereby  a  sense  of  the  oppressed 
imagination  before  the  daily  spectacle  of  a 
nation's  sorrow.  He  looks  at  you  steadily 
and  with  kindness,  yet  there  is  in  the  look 
something  detached,  a  sort  of  spiritual  dis- 
embodiment, the  soaring  gaze  of  one  who 
feels  himself  called  to  perform  a  staggering 
task — the  look,  I  imagine,  that  might  have 
been  in  the  eyes  of  the  inspired  and  simple 
child  of  the  soil,  the  Maid  of  Orleans.  The 
shoulders  are  strong,  the  chest  thick,  and 
the  body  inclined  to  corpulence.  Large  as 
these  proportions  are,  the  head  seems  larger 
in  comparison.  The  impression  is  one  of 
massive  and  silent  strength.  There  is  noth- 
ing of  the  traditional  Latin  type:  eloquent, 


A  VISIT  TO  JOFFRE  191 

mentally  rapid  and  impassioned,  emotion- 
ally mercurial.  He  is  neither  nervous  nor 
electric.  It  is  the  mind,  divorced  from  the 
tongue,  that  is  ceaselessly  at  work. 

Relying  on  erroneous  reports,  I  said:  "I 
am  glad  you  speak  English." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"No,  I  can  read  a  few  words  with  diffi- 
culty, that's  all;  though  I  passed  through 
your  country  over  thirty  years  ago  on  my 
return  from  Indo-China." 

Fortunately,  as  I  had  gone  to  school  in 
France,  I  could  converse  with  him  in  his  own 
language — a  fact  which  he  received  with 
pleasure. 

The  first  subject  which  we  discussed  was 
the  ever-present  one  in  my  mind,  democracy 
— fortunately  for  me,  for  it  was  an  open- 
ing which  found  an  instant  response. 

"General  Joffre,"  I  said,  "in  my  country 
we  stand  to-day  divided  into  two  distinct 
groups,  despite  all  the  ominous  warnings  of 


192  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

this  conflict.  First,  there  is  an  awakened 
group  which  has  peace  as  its  ultimate  ideal 
of  the  progress  of  civilization,  but  which, 
face  to  face  with  the  realities  of  modern  his- 
tory, is  seeking  to  arouse  the  country  to  the 
necessity  of  military  preparation;  second,  a 
group  of  convinced  idealists  who  believe  that 
the  establishment  of  an  army — in  fact,  the 
very  confidence  of  military  preparation — is 
a  constant  incitement  to  war.  Their  op- 
position to  a  program  of  defense  is  based  on 
the  principle  that  the  discipline  of  military 
organization  undermines  the  spirit  of  de- 
mocracy. Many  a  time  I  have  wished  that 
the  peace  propagandists  could  have  been 
here  to  see  what  I  have  seen — the  democracy, 
undiminished  and  unimpaired,  in  the  French 
army." 

"That  is  our  great  moral  resource,"  he 
said  instantly.  (When  he  speaks,  he  speaks 
slowly,  rather  seeking  his  words  than  car- 
ried away  by  the  sound  of  his  own  words.) 


A  VISIT  TO  JOFFRE  193 

"Where  a  nation  is  truly  republican,  I  do 
not  think  there  is  any  danger  to  the  spirit 
of  democracy  in  military  preparation." 
He  stopped  for  a  moment  and  added: 
"It  is  not  simply  the  need  of  preparation 
for  war,  but  the  need  of  self -discipline.  In 
a  republic  where  the  spirit  of  individual  lib- 
erty is  always  strong,  military  service  gives 
the  citizen  a  quality  of  self -discipline  which 
he  perhaps  needs  to  respect  the  rights  of 
others  as  well  as  to  be  able  to  act  in  organ- 
ized bodies.  If  you  have  the  dread  of  mil- 
itary service  in  America,  it  may  be  because 
you  are  looking  at  the  German  ideal  rather 
than  at  the  French.  The  art  of  war  is  prac- 
tically the  same  everywhere;  the  same  gen- 
eral principles  are  taught  everywhere.  The 
distinction  between  the  French  army  and 
the  German  is  a  difference  in  the  concep- 
tion in  the  role  of  the  soldier.  The  theory 
of  the  Germans  is  to  make  of  the  soldier  a 
machine.  They  do  not  wish  him  to  think  for 


194          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

himself.  By  their  discipline  of  fear  they 
rob  him  of  initiative  and  make  his  move- 
ments absolutely  mechanical,  entirely  sub- 
ject to  the  will  of  his  officer.  That  is  why 
they  must  attack  in  close  formation.  To 
carry  out  this  theory,  the  officer  class  has 
been  made  into  a  Brahmin  caste.  To  per- 
petuate this  kind  of  feudal  supremacy,  the 
officer  does  not  converse  directly  with  the 
privates,  but  transmits  his  orders  through 
the  agency  of  a  intermediary  class — ser- 
geants and  corporals.  You  have  been  to 
the  front,  in  the  trenches  and  in  the  camps. 
You  must  have  seen  how  different  it  is  with 
us." 

"Nothing  has  impressed  me  more,"  I  an- 
swered, "than  your  spirit  of  fraternity.  In 
fact,  if  I  had  not  seen  its  practical  working 
out,  I  might  believe,  as  many  hasty  observ- 
ers must,  that  it  could  be  subversive  of  dis- 
cipline." 

"No,  no,"  he  took  up  warningly,  "that  is 


A  VISIT  TO  JOFFRE  195 

not  so.  Our  discipline  is  not  the  discipline 
of  fear.  We  do  everything  that  we  can  to 
impress  the  necessity  of  this  spirit  of  frater- 
nity. Our  soldiers  are  treated  as  intelligent 
human  beings,  capable  of  thinking  for  them- 
selves in  great  crises.  Every  day  men 
come  from  the  ranks  into  leadership.  The 
private  soldier  is  an  inexhaustible  store  from 
which  at  necessity  we  can  replenish  our  staff 
of  officers.  They,  in  turn,  are  taught  that 
their  soldiers  are  their  children ;  nothing  that 
the  private  soldiers  need  or  desire  must  be 
indifferent  to  them;  they  watch  over  their 
comforts  and  necessities,  share  their  food 
with  them  and  endure  the  same  hardships. 
They  live  together  as  a  great  family.  When 
we  make  a  charge,  the  officer  leads  his  men 
always — no  one  has  to  tell  him  that — and 
he  does  not  need  to  look  around  to  see  if  he 
is  followed." 

I  interrupted,  to  cite  to  him  the  incident 
of  my  friend,  Lieutenant  d'H ,  and  his 


196          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

refusal  to  leave  the  men  he  had  fought  with 
to  accept  promotion  in  another  regiment. 
General  Joffre's  face  lit  up  with  a  character- 
istic touch  of  pleasure  and  kindness,  almost 
the  pride  of  a  father.  He  may  have  no 
nerves,  but  he  has  extreme  sensibility.  He 
nodded : 

"Yes,  that  happens  all  the  time.  Our  of- 
ficers cannot  be  separated  from  the  men 
with  whom  they  have  fought.  You  under- 
stand, then,  why  'Mes  Poilus'  will  follow 
such  officers  anywhere." 

"In  the  final  crisis,"  I  suggested,  "I 
should  think  this  loyalty  might  be  a  deter- 
mining factor." 

The  affectionate  smile  disappeared  in  a, 
sudden  seriousness. 

"It  will.  Whatever  happens,  the  French 
army  will  never  crack.  It  did  not  in  the 
i  first  unequal  weeks;  it  never  will.  When 
the  day  comes  that  the  German  army  must 
retreat  in  the  face  of  defeat,  it  is  quite  pos- 


A  VISIT  TO  JOFFRE  197 

sible  that  when  their  theory  of  discipline — 
the  discipline  of  fear — is  placed  to  that  final 
test,  the  result  may  be  a  rout." 

I  then  put  to  him  the  question  that  had 
been  uppermost  in  the  minds  of  Americans 
from  the  beginning: 

"General  Joffre,  was  the  destruction  and 
desolation  wrought  in  Belgium  and  the 
north  of  France  simply  the  work  of  individ- 
uals or  the  result  of  a  fixed  policy?" 

"A  fixed  policy,"  he  said  instantly. 
"The  policy  of  terrorism  was  as  coldly  and 
calmly  determined  upon  as  the  decision  to 
violate  the  neutrality  and  break  the  national 
word  of  honor,  in  the  invasion  of  Belgium. 
It  is  the  German  military  theory  of  invasion, 
decided  upon  by  the  German  military  lead- 
ers, that  the  way  to  break  down  the  resist- 
ance of  the  country  you  are  invading  is  to 
devastate  it,  burn  its  villages,  shoot  civilians 
on  trumped-up  pretexts,  or  drive  them  be- 
fore your  own  troops  to  stop  the  fire  of  the 


198          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

enemy,  as  they  did  in  numerous  cases  with 
us,  in  the  belief  that  human  beings  can  be 
terrorized  to  the  extent  that  they  will  pre- 
fer to  surrender  rather  than  risk  the  hor- 
rible results  of  resisting  the  invader." 

He  stopped  for  a  moment,  and  added 
soberly : 

"The  proof  that  it  was  a  settled  policy  of 
military  tactics  is  that  from  the  moment  they 
realized  that  they  might  lose — that  is,  say, 
after  the  Battle  of  the  Marne — they  stopped 
it." 

What  he  said  only  confirmed  the  testi- 
mony of  twenty  men,  leaders  in  politics  and 
public  opinion — a  characteristically  gener- 
ous French  opinion  that  distinguishes  be- 
tween the  German  nation  and  the  con- 
science-oppressing military  caste  which 
places  no  consideration  of  humanity  in  its 
textbook  of  military  necessity. 

"And  the  question  of  peace,"  I  asked — 
"if  it  is  not  indiscreet?"  Then,  as  I  saw 


A  VISIT  TO  JOFFRE  199 

him  hesitate,  I  added  quickly:  "I  ask  that 
because  there  are  many  well-meaning  but 
unfortunately  misinformed  persons  in 
America  who  believe  that  the  cause  of  hu- 
manity is  best  served  at  the  present  moment 
by  seeking  an  immediate  peace." 

He  answered  with  more  solemnity  and 
earnestness,  with  a  flash  of  the  strong,  un- 
derlying mental  stubbornness  for  the  right 
which  is  characteristic: 

"Peace  to-day  would  be  a  crime  toward 
posterity.  It  would  only  be  an  armistice  in 
which  every  nation  would  continue  fever- 
ishly to  prepare  for  war.  The  French  na- 
tion is  too  intelligent  to  deceive  itself  or  to 
be  deceived.  We  are  not  righting  a  nation 
with  the  same  ideas  as  our  own,  but  a  na- 
tion drunk  with  the  idea  of  imperial  domina- 
tion, a  nation  which  believes  that  in  the  prog- 
ress of  the  world  there  is  no  place  for  little 
nations.  The  decision  as  to  whether  Eu- 
rope will  continue  as  free  and  individual 


200          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

states  will  be  made  in  this  war  alone.  Either 
we  win  the  right  now  to  continue  democratic 
and  peaceful,  or  we  surrender  Europe  to  the 
imposition  of  an  imperial  idea.  You  will 
find,  wherever  you  go,  that  the  French  peo- 
ple know  this.  You  will  find  them  abso- 
lutely of  one  opinion.  They  are  prepared 
for  anything,  and  they  know  what  the  issue 
is.  We  do  not  need  to  lie  to  our  soldiers. 
No  matter  how  long  the  war  lasts,  it  will  be 
fought  out  until  we  have  conquered  the  right 
to  leave  a  heritage  of  peace  to  our  children." 
"Of  course,  another  winter's  campaign," 
I  suggested,  "will  never  be  as  frightful  as 
the  last  one." 

"No,"  he  said,  "it  will  be  very  different." 
Into  his  face  again  came  that  look  of  af- 
fectionate solicitude,  as  though  the  needs  of 
the  humblest  soldier  were  the  first  concern 
of  the  great  commander  of  organization  and 
tactics — a  look  that  made  me  understand 
why  the  army  adores  him. 


A  VISIT  TO  JOFFRE  201 

"That  is  one  thing  we  have  been  working 
on  for  months.  It  will  be  very  different. 
We  are  prepared  now  for  many  things. 
One  thing  especially  we  will  try  to  avoid — 
the  standing  in  water  and  ice  for  days  and 
weeks." 

I  changed  to  another  subject: 

"General  Joffre,  with  us  we  consider  that 
the  sinking  of  the  Lusitania  was  above  all 
things  a  moral  and  spiritual  tragedy  for  the 
German  race :  a  frightful  unmasking  of  the 
extent  to  which  a  military  despotism  had 
crushed  the  instincts  of  the  individual  con- 
science. We  cannot  conceive  that  an  of- 
ficer could  be  found  to  obey  such  an  order. 
We  say  freely  that  were  it  conceivable  that 
an  American  commander  should  receive  such 
an  order  he  would  prefer  to  blow  out  his 
brains  rather  than  to  have  his  name  soiled 
for  all  time  with  the  memory  of  such  assas- 
sination." 

The  answer  he  gave  me  was  substantially 


202          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

the  answer  I  had  received  from  every  pub- 
lic man  in  France: 

"No  French  government  would  impose 
such  an  order,  knowing  that  it  could  not  be 
obeyed.  We  cannot  give  inhuman  com- 
mands to  human  beings.  With  us  the  army 
is  not  the  master  but  the  servant  of  the  na- 
tion, and  the  nation  reposes  on  a  public  con- 
science which  is  the  sum  of  the  consciences 
of  its  soldiers ;  and  our  responsibility  to  that 
conscience  is  higher  than  any  military  neces- 
sity. No  such  order  could  ever  be  given  by 
a  French  commander" — he  stopped  and 
added  significantly — "nor  many  other  or- 
ders." 

Underneath  the  great  working  head  of 
the  multiplied  military  activity  the  citizen 
of  the  Republic  had  shone  forth — the  ideal- 
ist for  whom  honor,  humanity,  and  moral 
pride  were  not  simply  figments  of  peace,  but 
the  inspiring,  ennobling  incitements  to  hero- 
ism in  war. 


A  VISIT  TO  JOFFRE  203 

Several  times  in  this  long  interview,  parts 
of  which  cannot  be  reproduced,  General 
Joffre  stopped  to  recite  individual  traits  of 
heroism,  his  expression  changing  instantly 
to  one  of  tender  pride,  as  though  in  a  con- 
stant contemplation  of  the  growing  hideous- 
ness  of  war's  realism  these  flights  of  the 
soul  above  the  selfishness  and  egoism  of  the 
day  were  the  inspiration  in  which  to  find 
strength  and  hope. 

I  repeated  to  him  the  answer  a  little 
working  woman  had  given  me  in  one  of  the 
crowded  workrooms  of  Paris — a  woman 
who  had  lost  one  son  and  a  brother  already 
••< — who,  answering  my  question  as  to  whether 
her  courage  was  still  as  strong  as  ever,  had 
replied  proudly: 

"We  women  must  keep  up  our  courage, 
•monsieur,  to  give  courage  to  our  men." 

He  looked  away  a  moment,  profoundly 
touched,  and  then  said,  with  great  feeling: 

"Oh,   our   women!     They   are   sublime! 


204  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

No  one  ever  knew  how  heroic  they  could  be 
— not  even  they  themselves.  There  will  be 
no  flinching  there.  Even  the  mothers  who 
have  lost  their  sons,  their  only  sons,  will  not 
permit  us  to  stop  now.  They  have  made 
their  sacrifice  without  complaint — only  it 
must  not  be  a  useless  sacrifice." 

When  it  came  time  to  end  the  interview, 
and  I  had  obtained  his  consent  to  publish  it, 
which  I  did  only  with  the  greatest  difficulty, 
there  came  on  his  face  for  the  first  time  a 
look  of  sudden  timidity. 

"I  don't  like  interviews,"  he  said,  a  little 
shyly,  as  though  this  were  a  region  of  which 
he  understood  nothing.  "I  am  afraid  of 
them.  It  must  be  on  one  condition — in 
what  you  write,  don't  make  me  too  promi- 
nent. What  France  is  doing  is  too  big;  I 
do  not  want  people  to  talk  about  me  any 
more  than  the  others;  I  am  simply  one  citi- 
zen of  the  Republic." 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  FRANCE 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  FRANCE 

IF  French  diplomacy  has  been  unjustly 
held  to  have  made  any  mistake  in  this 
war,  it  has  been  in  the  early  determination  to 
make  no  propaganda  in  the  United  States. 
The  reasons  for  this  decision  were  both  dip- 
lomatic and  sentimental.  France  promptly 
saw  the  reaction  which  followed  Germany's 
blundering  attempt  to  influence  American 
opinion,  and  determined  to  avoid  those  dan- 
gers, perhaps  not  realizing  the  difference  be- 
tween a  propaganda  based  on  education  and 
the  tactful  repetition  of  historical  facts  and 
actual  accomplishments  and  a  propaganda 
condemned  to  absurdities  and  trickery  by 
the  nature  of  the  actions  it  was  trying  to  ob- 
scure or  condone.  Beyond  this  the  French 


208          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

are  an  exceedingly  proud  nation,  not  given 
to  boastfulness,  who  believe  that  the  accom- 
plishment of  their  duty  toward  civilization 
needs  no  advertisement;  that  it  is  for  us,  a 
great,  liberty-loving  republic,  cherishing  the 
same  ideals,  to  recognize  with  ardor  what  re- 
publicans have  achieved  under  staggering 
odds,  without  having  our  attention  claimed 
by  the  methods  of  a  barker  at  a  country  cir- 
cus. In  the  end  this  proud  reticence  accom- 
plishes its  own  reward.  There  are  signs  to- 
day of  a  great  awakening  as  to  the  true  sig- 
nificance of  this  world  war  and  the  unequal 
and  unsought  responsibility  borne  by  the 
Republic  of  France. 

Unfortunately  our  sources  of  news  are 
English.  With  the  exception  of  one  cable, 
all  lines  of  communication  pass  their  cen- 
sorship. When  an  American  magazine  or 
newspaper  desires  information  about  France 
it  frequently  commissions  an  Englishman  to 
inform  it.  With  the  best  intention  in  the 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  FRANCE      209 

world  this  correspondent  sees  France,  not 
with  our  eyes,  but  with  his  own.  Two  great 
agencies  of  publicity  have  existed  in  this 
country,  English  and  German.  Hearing 
little  or  nothing  of  the  cause  of  France,  the 
American  public  (which  has  always  miscon- 
ceived the  virility  and  stability  of  its  sister 
republic)  has  come  to  look  upon  this  war  as 
a  conflict  between  two  greedy  commercial 
nations — England  and  Germany — at  times 
inclined  to  accept  the  convenient  and  lately 
announced  assertion  of  the  Germans'  love 
and  admiration  of  the  French  and  their  re- 
gret that  military  necessity  has  forced  them 
to  attack  a  future  ally.  This  is  not  simply 
a  misconception  of  the  significance  of  this 
war,  but  an  error  that  has  deprived  one  re- 
public of  the  legitimate  pride  and  thrill  of 
enthusiasm  that  it  should  have  in  the  trium- 
phant demonstration  that  a  nation  can  stand 
free  and  republican,  able  to  maintain  its  na- 
tional existence,  even  when  threatened  by 


210  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

the  most  scientifically  organized  military 
despotism  the  world  has  known.  It  is  only 
to-day,  with  a  sense  of  defrauded  enthusi- 
asm, that  we  perceive  that  where  the  colossus 
of  Russia  has  been  found  corrupt  and  short- 
sighted, and  the  great  world  empire  of  Eng- 
land is  still  struggling  desperately  to 
awaken  its  dormant  masses  to  its  imperiled 
unity,  France  has  emerged  from  the  test  as 
completely  unified  as  Germany — is  a 
greater  nation,  since  not  one  republican 
ideal  has  been  sacrificed,  not  one  individual 
conscience  smirched,  not  a  national  oath  dis- 
honored, nor  an  ideal  of  humanity  bartered 
for  "military  necessity." 

The  American  people  have  understood  lit- 
tle of  the  great-hearted  Republic  of  France. 
For  years  we  have  believed  her  in  decadence. 
For  this  there  were  many  plausible  reasons. 
The  novels  that  have  told  the  world  of  a 
frothy  Parisian  society  (a  society  no  more 
French  than  New  York  is  American)  have 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  FRANCE      211 

pictured  to  us  a  nation  in  decadence.  Those 
who  have  visited  the  capital  itself  have  re- 
turned with  a  tourist's  impression  of  frivol- 
ity and  egotism,  forgetting  that  in  Paris  you 
have  the  back  parlors  of  depravity  of  the  en- 
tire civilized  world,  which  congregates  there 
to  do  what  it  does  not  dare  do  at  home.  I 
remember  once  asking  a  group  of  French- 
men of  the  aristocratic  boulevardier  type 
how  many  habitues  of  restaurants  and  cou- 
lisses you  would  find  among  the  Parisians 
themselves — not  men  who  dropped  in  at  the 
Cafe  de  Paris,  Giro's,  or  the  Abbe  de 
Theleme  once  a  month,  but  who  lived  ha- 
bitually in  this  atmosphere.  There  were 
six  present,  men  of  fortune  and  reputation 
and  themselves  of  the  class  of  which  I  had 
asked  an  estimate.  Their  answers  varied 
from  200  to  350! 

Politically  we  have  seen  France,  despite 
noteworthy  social  advance,  badly  governed 
by  a  shifting,  clamoring  succession  of  vain- 


212  THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

glorious  orators,  with  only  an  occasional 
leader  of  authority  with  the  instinct  not  for 
literature  but  for  governing.  Yet  this  fran- 
tic mob  of  debaters  had  as  little  significance 
as  the  mongrel  ephemeral  society  of  Paris 
itself.  Underneath,  the  great  French  peo- 
ple continued  sober,  rich,  happy,  and  in- 
creasingly intelligent.  France  was  like  a 
great  pot  au  feu — nourishing  and  bountiful 
underneath,  with  the  grease  of  society  rising 
to  the  top. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  war  France,  de- 
spite inherent  strength,  did  not  compare 
with  Germany  either  in  material  prepara- 
tion or  in  efficient  organization.  When  his- 
tory comes  to  be  written  it  will  be  known 
just  how  lacking  France  was  in  certain  mil- 
itary equipment  and  just  what  internal 
handicaps  she  had  to  overcome  at  the  mo- 
ment she  was  staggering  under  the  shock 
of  the  invader.  France  mobilized  two  mil- 
lion men  while  Germany  mobilized  six. 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  FRANCE      213 

France  found  herself  facing  the  test  of  her 
existence  with  every  evil  of  democracy  up- 
permost. The  supreme  direction  of  mili- 
tary tactics  was  divided  between  General 
Joffre  and  the  Minister  of  War.  The  in- 
vasion of  Alsace  was  a  political  move.  The 
advance  to  Charleroi  was  a  sentimental  debt 
paid  to  Belgium,  and  there  are  indications 
that,  at  one  critical  point  at  least,  in  the  re- 
treat the  orders  received  by  a  certain  gen- 
eral from  the  Minister  of  War  and  the  gen- 
eralissimo were  in  direct  conflict.  The 
army  was  to  a  certain  extent  commanded  by 
leaders  who  had  reached  their  station 
through  a  measure  of  political  encourage- 
ment. Moreover,  there  undoubtedly  ex- 
isted among  certain  political  leaders  a  dis- 
tinct though  small  representation  which, 
after  Charleroi,  honestly  and  patriotically 
believed  that  resistance  to  German  invasion 
was  futile,  and  that  the  higher  patriotism 
consisted  in  saving  France,  its  cities  and  its 


214          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

unravaged  fields,  by  acquiescence  in  Ger- 
man domination.  Keep  these  facts  in  mind, 
and  remember  likewise  the  muddling,  and 
worse,  which  characterized  the  opening  year 
of  the  Civil  War  and,  more  recently,  our 
first  moves  against  Spain.  Then  you  may 
comprehend  the  gigantic  task  performed  by 
Joffre  from  Charleroi  to  the  Marne. 

From  Charleroi  to  the  Marne  Joffre  not 
only  reorganized  the  French  army,  but,  to 
the  logic  of  military  necessity,  he  readjusted 
the  French  parliamentary  machine,  and  this 
to-day  is  what  a  certain  obstinate  group  of 
parliamentary  adherents,  with  their  eyes 
still  on  the  Revolution,  cannot  forgive  him. 
At  Charleroi,  with  complete  disaster  loom- 
ing ahead,  with  certain  troops  on  which  he 
could  not  depend  and  officers  who  had 
failed,  and  in  spite  of  ministerial  interfer- 
ence, Joffre  assumed  complete  military  di- 
rection and  set  about  the  task  of  reorganiza- 
tion while  waiting  for  his  reserves  to  be 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  FRANCE      215 

hastily  equipped  and  effectively  mobilized. 
He  broke  generals  by  the  dozen — old  per- 
sonal friends,  comrades  in  other  compaigns, 
brilliant  class  tacticians  who  had  failed  at 
the  practical  test,  men  who  begged  for  an- 
other chance — he  retired  generals  of  divi- 
sion, colonels  and  majors  by  the  hundred; 
he  regrouped  his  forces  with  a  new  knowl- 
edge of  their  dependability.  All  this  was 
done  during  the  most  desperate  retreat  the 
world  has  known,  while  the  German  cohorts, 
realizing  the  preciousness  of  time,  were  be- 
ing driven  by  the  discipline  of  fear  at  a 
breathless  pace  which  seemed  beyond  the 
power  of  human  nature  to  continue.  Yet 
by  the  time  the  Marne  had  been  reached 
Joffre  had  performed  his  miracle.  He  had 
the  French  army  ready.  He  selected  his 
ground,  accepted  a  general  engagement, 
and  in  the  first  clash  after  preparation,  com- 
pletely and  decisively  defeated  the  great 
German  military  machine — saving  France 


216          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

and  the  map  of  Europe.  For  the  battle  of 
the  Marne  was  not,  as  we  first  believed,  the 
result  of  a  lueky  counterstroke  by  an  unex- 
pectedly gathered  army  from  Paris  thrown 
on  Von  Kluck's  flank,  but  a  carefully 
planned  line  of  battle  announced  before- 
hand, where  the  French  armies,  at  every 
vital  point,  did  what  was  asked  of  them, 
checking  and  later  repelling  the  enemy  at 
Verdun  and  Nancy,  flanking  them  at  the 
Ourcq  and  driving  irresistibly  and  bril- 
liantly under  General  Foch  at  Von  Billow's 
army,  separating  it,  flanking  it,  hurling  it 
into  the  marshes,  and  driving  it  back  in  dis- 
order. From  the  Marne  on,  France  has 
maintained  her  supremacy,  repelling  the 
next  great  German  drive  at  the  battle  of 
the  Lisiere,  and  in  the  long  months  of  trench 
fighting  (with  the  exception  of  Soissons) 
obstinately  and  vigorously  advancing  at  a 
dozen  points  until  the  time  came  for  the 
powerful  offensive  of  this  fall. 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  FRANCE      217 

So  much  for  France's  military  accom- 
plishment, achieved  at  a  period  of  incom- 
pleted  preparation  and  a  lack  of  supplies. 
To-day  with  2,500,000  men  on  the  line,  and 
1,600,000  in  depots,  the  class  of  1916  yet  to 
come,  with  every  village  and  hamlet  for 
thirty  miles  back  of  the  trenches  bursting 
with  reserves,  the  resources  of  France  have 
hardly  been  scratched. 

Economically  what  France  accomplished 
in  the  first  year  of  the  war  by  the  miracle 
of  improvization  is  almost  beyond  belief. 
After  the  German  invasion  France  found 
herself  with  her  great  industrial  region  and 
three-quarters  of  her  metallurgical  factories 
in  the  hands  of  the  enemy ;  for  the  violation 
of  Belgium  was  not  simply  the  easy  road 
to  Paris,  but  the  way  to  the  heart  of  eco- 
nomic France.  Despite  this  loss  of  her  good 
right  arm  and  shorn  of  her  former  resources, 
in  the  eleven  months  that  England  was 
blundering  and  muddling,  France  rose  eco- 


218          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

nomically,  improvising  and  achieving  this 
incredible  result:  Not  only  was  she  able  to 
supply  her  own  needs,  but  she  found  in  the 
richness  of  her  strength  enough  to  give  to 
England,  to  Russia,  to  Serbia,  to  Italy,  and 
even  to  Rumania.  Her  resources  of  capital 
met  the  same  emergency. 

Internally,  every  section  has  established 
its  working  rooms  for  women  out  of  em- 
ployment, either  providing  them  with  free 
meals  or  furnishing  food  for  a  pittance. 
Every  mother  or  head  of  a  family  unable 
to  procure  work  receives  1.25  francs  a  day, 
with  a  slight  addition  for  each  child.  All 
rents  have  been  suspended.  All  religions 
and  all  political  beliefs  have  met,  in  absolute 
harmony,  for  the  first  time  in  the  history  of 
France,  and  formed  the  great  central  body 
known  as  the  Secours-National,  on  whose 
central  committee  figure  the  chief  Catholic 
dignitary  of  Paris,  the  chief  Jewish  rabbi, 
and  the  leading  Protestant  ministers,  as 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  FRANCE      219 

well  as  all  forms  of  Republicans,  Socialists, 
Clericals,  and  Monarchists.  The  Secours- 
National  has  established  cheap  dinners  and 
luncheons  for  the  poor,  and  cantines  ma- 
ternelles,  free  wherever  necessary,  to  all 
women  in  the  process  of  childbearing.  Be- 
yond this,  it  has  organized  days  of  popular 
subscription,  bringing  in  millions  of  francs, 
and  distributes  its  help  among  all  civilian  ac- 
tivities that  deserve  it.  Outside  of  this,  the 
women  of  France  mobilized  in  thousands  to 
the  call  of  the  Red  Cross,  already  prepared 
by  six  months  to  a  year  of  medical  training. 
These  are  but  the  organized  expressions  of 
national  unity.  Individual  charity  and  per- 
formance are  legion — private  hospitals,  pri- 
vate workshops,  private  training  schools  for 
the  disabled  soldiers;  and  all  this  ennobled 
by  a  national  recognition  of  the  decency  of 
sorrow  and  a  tragic  concentration  which  has 
banished  gay  and  voluptuous  luxury  from 
the  eye  and  loud,  rollicking  frivolity  from 


220          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

the  ear,  and  made  of  Paris  a  city  of  nuns 
and  crusaders. 

To  the  outer  world  this  result  appears 
like  a  miracle,  and,  in  a  sense,  a  miracle  was 
performed,  in  a  nation  which  twice  before, 
in  Jeanne  d'Arc  and  the  revolutionary  he- 
roes at  Valmy,  had  shown  itself  capable  of 
miracles. 

There  are  three  fundamental  reasons  for 
this  startling  demonstration  of  the  national 
vitality  and  unity.  First,  the  abiding  spir- 
itual heritage  of  the  French  Revolution. 
Above  all,  the  progress  of  the  French  na- 
tion has  been  in  the  ardent  pursuit  of  great 
and  uplifting  ideas.  The  prevailing  senti- 
ment to-day  is  the  compensating  conviction 
that  they  are  warring  for  civilization  and  to 
free,  not  France  alone,  but  all  Europe,  from 
the  reactionary  liberty-distrusting  recru- 
descence of  a  feudalistic  despotism.  The 
last  twenty  years  has  been  a  precious  period 
in  republican  progress.  To-day  the  great 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  FRANCE 

Revolution  has  at  last  achieved  a  completed 
republican  type.  Whatever  the  difference 
in  their  mental  attributes  and  opinions,  there 
is  a  striking  similarity  of  type  in  Joffre, 
Poincare,  Delcasse,  Briand,  Viviani,  Pichon, 
and  other  leaders.  They  are  simple,  di- 
vorced from  the  social  imitativeness  of  the 
parvenu,  and,  above  all,  rigorously  schooled. 
To-day,  for  the  first  time,  the  French 
masses  are  led  by  republican  chiefs. 

The  separation  of  church  and  state,  in  an 
effort  to  liberate  the  schools  and  to  procure 
a  universal  dissemination  of  education,  has 
resulted  in  giving  to  the  inherent  qualities 
of  stubborn  frugality  and  indomitable  pa- 
tience the  final  touch  of  intelligence  which 
makes  the  French  people  to-day  the  most 
informed  and  the  most  capable  of  reason- 
ing. Where  Germany  had  to  trick  its  So- 
cialistic masses  into  a  violation  of  Socialistic 
Belgium  by  the  pretended  bugbear  of  Slavic 
aggression;  where  England  had  to  appeal 


222          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

to  sentimental  indignation,  instead  of  baldly 
stating  the  reasons  of  self-interest  which 
make  a  German  occupation  of  Belgium  an 
intolerable  menace  to  the  future  of  the  Brit- 
ish Empire,  the  French  have  been  under  no 
illusions;  no  lies  have  been  dealt  to  them,  no 
equivocations  were  necessary.  The  French 
masses  clearly  understand  the  character  and 
ambitions  of  the  new  Pan-Germanistic  the- 
ory of  civilization,  and  where  not  a  public 
man  in  England  would  have  dared  to  appeal 
to  the  nation's  intelligence  on  the  proposi- 
tion that  the  destruction  of  France  meant 
the  ultimate  destruction  of  England,  not  a 
single  French  statesman  needed  to  convince 
his  people  that  to  let  Russia  stand  alone 
against  Germany  meant  the  subsequent  sub- 
jection of  France  to  the  German  idea  and 
.the  German  soldier.  Dominated  by  ardent 
disciples  of  peace,  seeking,  as  a  nation,  ex- 
ternal peace  to  crown  the  internal  progress 
of  republican  ideals,  France  went  to  the  aid 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  FRANCE      223 

of  her  ally  without  a  dissenting  voice.  She 
did  this  because,  from  top  to  bottom,  her 
masses  were  intelligent,  even  to  the  point  of 
comprehending  this  indirect  menace.  Not 
only  could  they  reason  thus  clearly,  but  they 
perceived,  and  perceive  to-day,  that  this  is 
a  conflict  of  ideas,  and  as  a  nation  that 
one  hundred  years  ago  shook  the  thrones 
of  Europe  with  republican  indignation, 
to-day  they  have  gone  with  the  same  ardor 
into  the  conflict,  comprehending  that  the 
future  of  democracy  in  Germany  as  well 
as  in  France  is  in  their  hands,  and  that 
no  geographical  discussion,  no  illusive 
peace,  but  a  conclusive  result,  can  settle  this 
question. 

To-day  France  is  a  republic,  not  as  we 
are,  of  detached  and  self -centered  individu- 
alists, but  a  republic  of  disciplined  citizens, 
consecrated  to  the  furtherance  of  the  noble 
ideals  of  equality  and  opportunity,  and  hold- 
ing these  ideals  so  precious  that  they  are 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

willing,  whenever  the  test  comes,  to  give 
their  blood  to  the  last  man. 

If  in  this  political  accomplishment  are  to 
be  found  the  resources  of  strength  which 
have  astonished  the  world,  in  a  deeper  sense 
the  stability,  morally,  of  the  French  nation 
reposes  in  the  dominant  role  which  the  idea 
of  duty  plays  in  each  individual  conscience. 
This  idea  of  duty  they  have  retained  from 
their  long  contact  with  the  Catholic  religion, 
as,  with  their  peculiar  genius  for  assimilat- 
ing the  best,  they  have  clung  to  the  great 
spiritual  enthusiasm  for  liberal  ideas  of  the 
Revolution.  The  instinctive  sense  of  duty 
of  every  Frenchman  to  the  nation  is  the 
same  sense  of  duty  of  every  Frenchman  to 
the  needs  of  his  family.  The  strength  of 
France  is  indeed  the  strength  of  each  indi- 
vidual family.  Instead  of  the  law  of  primo- 
geniture, which  has  finally  left  the  seeds  of 
economic  revolution  in  England,  in  the 
forced  maintenance  of  enormous  estates, 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  FRANCE      225 

contrary  to  the  natural  laws  of  redistribu- 
tion of  wealth,  the  French  system  enforces 
a  just  division.  It  lays  down  the  law  that 
parents  are  responsible,  even  to  vices  and 
failings,  for  the  children  they  bring  into  the 
world,  and  prohibits,  beyond  a  negligible 
percentage,  discrimination  against  any 
child.  Not  only  do  the  children  yield  im- 
plicit obedience  and  deference  to  the  par- 
ents, but  the  parents  themselves  are  con- 
scious of  their  further  duty  toward  their 
children  in  providing  them  with  ample  mar- 
riage portions  to  permit  their  economic 
progress  in  the  world.  So  close  are  these 
relations,  economically,  morally,  and  spirit- 
ually, that  the  sense  of  family  obligation  is 
the  first  social  instinct  in  the  French  mind. 
Family  honor  and  family  progress  are 
deeply  allied  here.  To  sacrifice  oneself  for 
one's  family  is  but  to  be  spiritually  prepared 
to  sacrifice  oneself  for  the  nation,  its  honor 
and  its  needs.  With  the  first  call  to  danger, 


226          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

France — merged  into  one — ceased  to  be  a 
nation  of  a  million  families.  It  is  this  uni- 
fying and  ennobling  sense  of  a  great  family 
that  pervades  all  France  to-day,  in  every 
army  corps  and  every  regiment,  where  offi- 
cers and  soldiers  live  in  unconscious  simplic- 
ity and  fraternity,  devoted  to  each  other 
and  to  a  common  cause.  This  fundamental 
sense  of  duty,  based  on  the  family  organiza- 
tion of  the  nation,  was  the  spiritual  reason 
that  produced,  on  the  1st  of  August,  1914, 
the  amazing  spectacle  of  a  France  that  had 
been  judged  volatile,  bright,  pleasure-lov- 
ing, and  superficial,  uniting  in  one  common 
impulse,  grim,  sobered,  and  sternly  resolved 
to  the  last  sacrifice. 

Underneath  all  this,  deeper  than  republi- 
can liberties  or  the  religious  sense  of  duty, 
is  another  reason — the  love  of  the  people  for 
the  fair  land  of  France  itself — perhaps  the 
greatest  of  the  three.  It  is  the  fairest  land 
and  the  friendliest  to  man  on  the  face  of  the 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  FRANCE      227 

earth.  To  the  humblest  peasant  each 
Frenchman  is  conscious  of  its  beauty.  He 
loves  it  with  the  memory  of  his  fathers  that 
have  died  to  hold  it.  It  appeals  to  the 
deepest  flights  of  his  poetical  imagination. 
It  is  the  true  source  of  his  passionate  devo- 
tion to  the  beautiful  and  the  free  in  the  world 
of  ideas  and  in  the  world  of  the  rights  of 
men.  Of  all  the  anecdotes  I  brought  back, 
I  love  to  remember  most  an  incident  which 
a  sergeant  told  me  of  the  first  days  of  the 
mobilization.  He  was  passing  through  a 
small  city  in  a  railroad  section  where  every 
line  was  groaning  under  the  passage  of 
troops,  in  a  scene  of  frenzied  preparation, 
trucks  arriving  and  discharging,  vans  being 
loaded  to  suffocation.  In  the  midst  of  this 
turmoil  a  group  of  children  were  standing 
by  a  freight  car,  the  oldest,  a  little  tot 
scarcely  seven,  writing  in  chalk  a  message 
destined  to  traverse  a  land  of  embattled  he- 
roes. He  approached  and  read  what  a 


228          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

child's  hand  had  written  at  a  moment  when 
men  of  genius  were  seeking  phrases: 
"J'aime  la  France!" 

What  I  set  down  here  as  to  the  conditions 
antecedent  to  the  war  and  the  causes  which 
led  to  the  great  conflict  is  simply  the  record 
of  what  men  at  the  head  of  the  Government 
to-day,  historians  and  publicists,  have  told 
me.  I  found  them  in  substantial  accord.  I 
was  amazed  at  the  dispassionate  generosity 
of  their  reasoning. 

Germany  could  have  had  an  alliance  with 
France  any  time  during  the  last  ten  years. 
Moreover,  France  sought  it,  and  Germany 
rejected  it  for  reasons  which  will  appear. 
The  growth  of  pacificism  in  France  had 
been  the  steady  growth  of  democracy  away 
from  the  centralized  ambitions  of  the  state 
toward  a  higher  conception  of  civilization, 
as  an  opportunity  for  the  family  to  progress 
in  liberty,  education,  and  economic  happi- 
ness. Despite  much  that  has  been  errone- 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  FRANCE      229 

ously  written,  Chauvinism  in  France,  as  rep- 
resented by  the  desire  of  revenge  for  Alsace- 
Lorraine,  was  of  little  relative  importance. 
The  great  rise  of  Socialistic  ideas  had  for 
its  external  policy  international  peace  as 
consonant  with  internal  liberty.  Jaures 
himself  repeatedly  stated  his  belief  that  the 
German  Socialists  would  never  mobilize  for 
an  attack  against  France,  though  Bebel  per- 
sonally assured  him  that  he  was  mistaken. 
Aristide  Briand,  the  strongest  man  in 
France  to-day,  who,  at  the  time  of  the 
Socialistic  attempt  to  tie  up  the  railroads, 
forced  them  to  recognize  the  supremacy  of 
the  Government,  told  me  personally  that  in 
the  first  eighteen  months  when  he  was  Prime 
Minister  he  had  labored  incessantly  for  his 
favorite  plan  of  a  Franco-German  rap- 
prochment,  believing  that  in  it  lay  the  per- 
manent security  of  Europe.  After  eight- 
een months  of  ardent  advocacy,  he  found 
that  he  had  made  not  the  slightest  progress. 


230          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

He  realized  that  what  the  ruling  class  in 
Germany  desired  was  not  alliance  but  domi- 
nation. He  recognized  his  error,  and,  per- 
ceiving what  was  coming,  made  a  complete 
about-face,  and  worked  for  the  protection  of 
France  in  the  law  of  three  years'  service. 
Undoubtedly  back  of  the  German  rejection 
of  a  Franco-German  entente  was  the  fear 
of  the  militaristic  party  of  the  pacific  inclin- 
ations which  might  sweep  the  people  in  the 
event  of  the  closer  understanding  of  the  two 
great  Socialistic  bodies.  So  imbedded  in 
the  national  aspiration  had  become  the  ideal 
of  peace  in  France  that  the  three  years'  law, 
which  was  destined  to  save  it,  was  fought  at 
every  turn,  and  its  chief  sponsors,  including 
such  men  as  Barthou  and  Joseph  Reinach, 
were  pursued  by  the  resentment  of  their 
electors  and  defeated  in  their  next  campaign 
for  the  House  of  Deputies. 

Despite  this  failure  at  a  rapprochement 
with  Germany,   so  far  removed  were  the 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  FRANCE      231 

French  from  any  thought  of  war  that  they 
set  about  conscientiously  to  remove  every 
cause  of  dissension  in  a  series  of  arbitrations 
over  conflicting  spheres  of  influence.  Not 
only  had  they  come  to  an  agreement  as  to 
their  conflicting  holdings  in  Africa,  but 
hardly  a  few  months  before  the  actual  break- 
ing out  of  the  war  they  sent  a  mission  to 
Berlin  which  removed,  as  they  believed,  the 
last  dangerous  spark  between  the  two  na- 
tions, in  an  amicable  understanding  as  to 
developments  in  Asia  Minor.  Not  only  on 
the  eve  of  war  were  the  French  troops  with- 
drawn ten  kilometers  from  the  frontier,  but 
other  precautions  were  taken  under  the 
greatest  provocation.  During  this  excited 
period  the  German  ambassador,  for  what 
reason  of  provocation  it  is  only  fair  to  sur- 
mise, continued  to  show  himself  publicly  in 
the  streets  and  in  the  restaurants.  Though 
recognized  and  seeming  to  invite  a  pretext 
for  national  aggression,  he  never  received  the 


232          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

slightest  insult.  In  fact,  he  was  accompa- 
nied by  special  officers,  who  several  times 
calmly  warned  the  crowd  that  this  was  the 
German  ambassador  seeking  to  be  publicly 
insulted;  and  the  intelligent  French  crowd 
understood,  shrugged  their  shoulders,  and 
denied  him  the  gratification.  Despite  all 
this,  as  President  Poincare  personally  in- 
formed me,  and  later  embodied  in  his  speech 
of  July  14,  Germany  stated — even  embody- 
ing it  into  its  written  declaration  of  war — 
that  a  French  aeroplane  had  committed  the 
first  act  of  aggression  in  flying  over  Nurem- 
berg; whereas  even  to-day,  on  this  highest 
authority,  the  French  do  not  possess  an  aero- 
plane capable  of  flying  to  Nuremberg  and 
back.  Incidentally,  no  Nuremberg  paper 
of  the  date  made  the  slightest  allusion  to 
the  pretended  occurrence. 

The  French  attitude  toward  the  early 
German  atrocities  is  typical  of  their  gener- 
ous, intelligent  outlook.  They  do  not,  de- 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  FRANCE      233 

spite  the  greatest  provocation,  condemn  the 
entire  German  people.  They  are  convinced 
that  the  policy  of  terrorism  inflicted  on  Bel- 
gium and  northern  France  was  the  set  the- 
ory of  the  military  staff,  undertaken  to 
frighten  Holland  out  of  any  natural  inclin- 
ation she  may  have  had  toward  the  passage 
of  English  troops,  and  in  the  erroneous  be- 
lief that  nations  of  freemen  can  be  so  ter- 
rorized as  to  prefer  surrender  of  their  prin- 
ciples to  extermination.  This  misconcep- 
tion of  the  actions  of  free  people  the  French 
believe  due  to  the  German  aristocracy's  own 
arrogant  treatment  of  German  popular  pro- 
tests in  the  past.  The  French  look  upon 
the  Germans  as  a  nation  a  hundred  years  be- 
hind them  in  political  liberty,  a  nation  still 
struggling  to  liberate  its  public  conscience 
from  a  military  Brahmanism. 

Nothing  is  more  significant  of  this  gen- 
erous attitude  than  an  anecdote  told  me  by 
Deputy  X .  He  was  at  the  capital  of 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

his  department,  waiting  at  a  cafe  on  the 
evening  of  the  mobilization,  the  air  shaken 
with  the  ceaseless  departure  of  long  trains 
running  on  each  other's  heels.  As  he  was 
sitting  at  a  table,  profoundly  impressed  by 
the  patriotic  uprising  of  this  great  Socialis- 
tic community,  his  chief  opponent  for  years, 
a  Socialist  leader,  came  to  him  and,  extend- 
ing his  hand,  said  frankly: 

"Well,  M.  X ,  you  were  right  and  we 

were  wrong." 

"Well,  well,  that  is  all  forgotten,"  said 
the  Deputy.  "Those  things  are  of  no  im- 
portance now.  What  is  important  is  the 
way  you  Socialists  have  risen  to  the  hour 
of  our  need." 

And  the  Socialist,  ardent  and  irrepres- 
sible advocate  of  peace,  answered  in  words 
that,  after  all  my  investigations,  I  believe 
stand  for  the  truest  expression  of  what  the 
French  are  fighting  for. 

"Since  things  are  as  they  are  with  the  Ger- 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  FRANCE      235 

mans  we  have  got  to  help  them  make  their 
own  revolution." 

One  of  the  unusual  privileges  I  had  to  as- 
certain what  the  French  people  really 
thought  on  the  varied  sides  of  the  great  war 
was  to  be  taken,  as  the  guest  of  M.  Gabriel 
Hanotaux,  to  a  unique  assemblage — the 
Wednesday  luncheon  of  Gustave  Le  Bon, 
the  philosopher  and  author  of  "The  Psy- 
chology of  the  Crowd."  There  were  pres- 
ent about  thirty  men,  including  M.  Joseph 
Reinach,  M.  Etienne,  former  Minister  of 
War,  and  M.  Briand.  They  were  signifi- 
cant as  leaders  of  various  phases  of  French 
activity — men  who  knew  of  their  own  knowl- 
edge data  such  as  come  late  into  public  his- 
tory. 

Knowing  the  object  of  my  mission,  they 
decided  to  turn  the  luncheon  over  to  me  for 
my  information.  For  three  hours  I  put 
question  after  question,  discreet  and  indis- 
creet, while  they  debated,  often  in  disaccord, 


236          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

usually  arriving  at  a  general  conclusion. 
Their  judgment  on  the  determining  factors 
that  brought  on  the  war  was  particularly  in- 
forming. That  German  mysticism,  or  the 
Pan-Germanistic  theory  of  predestination, 
was  the  underlying  factor  of  unrest,  and  one 
that  inevitably  would  have  resulted  in  the 
European  conflagration,  is  true.  But  the 
French  do  not  believe  that  the  explosion  was 
timed  for  the  particular  period  which  finally 
resulted  in  this  war.  Pan-Germanism  be- 
came a  menace  to  the  security  of  Europe, 
when  to  the  feudal,  acquisitive,  and  defen- 
sive instincts  of  the  German  military  aris- 
tocracy there  came  into  alliance  the  empire- 
dreaming,  force-exalting  school  of  German 
philosophers.  The  first  direct  result  was 
the  moral  disintegration  of  the  Triple  Al- 
liance. Italy  saw  the  writing  on  the  wall, 
and  long  before  the  necessity  of  a  political 
act  she  comprehended  the  role  of  cat's-paw 
she  would  temporarily  serve  in  the  scheme 


of  race  exaltation.  Practically  the  Triple 
Alliance  had  ceased  to  exist  with  Italy's  re- 
fusal to  aid  Austria  in  attacking  Serbia  after 
the  Balkan  War.  What  part  of  responsi- 
bility the  German  Emperor  will  bear  in  his- 
tory is  still  a  moot  question.  That  up  to 
a  year  before  the  war,  as  far  as  evidence  per- 
mits, his  desire  was  for  peace,  the  French 
freely  accord.  At  this  time,  however,  a 
marked  psychological  change  came  over 
him.  He  had  created  in  the  military  ma- 
chine a  German  Frankenstein  monster  that 
threatened  its  author.  The  repeated  men- 
aces against  France  which  had  resulted  in 
the  maintenance  of  a  shaky  peace  had  left 
the  Emperor  under  suspicion.  He  found 
his  popularity  impaired;  and  popularity  to 
such  a  dramatic  nature  is  the  breath  of  ex- 
istence. When  he  appeared  in  public  as- 
semblages he  found  them  cold  and  indiffer- 
ent, while  side  by  side  the  Crown  Prince, 
the  military  prophet,  was  acclaimed  with 


238          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

frenzy.  That  this  had  its  effect  upon  his 
vanity  seems  probable.  At  any  rate,  the 
Kaiser,  in  his  relations  with  French  diplo- 
macy in  the  year  preceding  the  war,  was  a 
different  personality,  displaying  a  new  at- 
titude, mysterious  and  brooding,  which 
aroused  the  liveliest  apprehensions,  and  it 
was  freely  predicted  that  if  a  new  cause  for 
dispute  arose  between  Germany  and  France 
the  Kaiser  would  not  be  found  on  the  re- 
straining side  of  peace. 

Internally  there  was  another  cause  which 
urged  the  German  military  party  to  put 
everything  to  a  final  test.  The  rise  of  So- 
cialism had  produced  an  internal  conflict 
which  the  intrenched  aristocrats  viewed  with 
more  fear  than  any  danger  of  a  foreign  is- 
sue. Ten  years  more  of  rising  democracy 
appeared  more  dangerous  to  them  than  any 
fear  of  foreign  aggression.  As  I  have 
stated,  I  believe  this  internal  fear  was  the 
reason  why  German  diplomacy  would  not 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  FRANCE      239 

hear  of  a  French  alliance  which  would 
strengthen  the  enemies  of  militarism  at 
home.  Beyond  this  the  German  military 
propaganda  had  reached  such  a  point  of 
swollen  costliness  that  if  it  did  not  produce 
results  in  five  years  it  faced  the  certainty  of 
a  reduction  by  popular  force. 

While  these  internal  conditions  inclined 
the  German  Frankenstein  monster  to  hasten 
the  test,  conditions  in  Europe  made  it  ap- 
pear that  if  an  armed  conflict  must  come, 
no  moment  would  ever  be  more  favorable 
than  the  present.  Despite  the  new,  perplex- 
ing equation  of  Balkan  strength,  England 
was  on  the  eve  of  political  and  civil  war. 
France,  by  the  frank  admission  of  Senator 
Humbert,  was  in  a  state  of  marked  unprep- 
aration,  which  would  later  be  remedied. 
Russia  had  still  to  build  her  strategic  rail- 
roads, while  Germany,  with  the  completion 
of  the  Kiel  Canal,  was  at  the  maximum 
of  her  defensive  strength.  The  moment 


240          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

seemed  felicitous  for  such  a  master  stroke 
of  intimidation  as  had  resulted  in  Austria's 
seizure  of  Bosnia  and  Herzegovina. 

The  men  who  discussed  these  matters  be- 
fore me  were  unanimous  in  believing  that  the 
Pan-Germanistic  program  meant  an  im- 
mediate crushing  of  France,  with  the  ac- 
quisition of  coveted  territory,  England  as 
a  second  step,  and  Russia  something  to  be 
settled  with  in  the  indefinite  future.  By 
making  use  of  the  Socialist  hatred  of  the 
Russian  political  organization,  and  by  skill- 
fully playing  upon  the  bugaboo  of  Slavic 
aggression,  the  German  machine  would 
make  sure  of  national  unity.  The  Social- 
ists would  march  to  "defend"  Germany 
against  a  Russian  "attack"  where  they 
might  balk  at  assailing  peace-loving,  demo- 
cratic France.  German  diplomacy  was  ab- 
solutely sure  that  England  would  not  enter 
the  war. 

The  decisive  date  was  the  council  of  war 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  FRANCE 

of  the  German  General  Staff  at  Potsdam 
on  July  27.  On  that  day  the  German 
monster  overruled  the  Frankenstein  that 
brought  it  into  being.  Three  times  before 
it  had  been  led  to  the  brink  and  denied  its 
opportunity.  This  time  it  insisted  upon  its 
right.  Such  is  the  French  analysis. 

Meanwhile,  it  is  well  to  remember, 
France,  in  absolute  loyalty  to  her  ally  and 
her  word  of  honor,  and  without  assurance 
of  England's  assistance,  determined  to  go 
to  war.  At  ten  o'clock  one  night  a  tele- 
gram from  Russia  was  received  stating  that 
war  was  inevitable  in  view  of  Germany's  at- 
titude and  asking  if  she  could  count  on 
France's  assistance.  The  Cabinet  was  has- 
tily assembled  and  at  five  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  seven  hours  later,  the  answer  was 
sent  in  the  affirmative.  There  was  no  at- 
tempt to  delay  in  order  to  be  assured  of  Eng- 
land's attitude.  No  one  had  the  slightest 
idea  of  what  England  would  do.  M.  Denys 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

Cochin,  leader  of  the  Clerical  party,  with 
whom  I  lunched,  told  me  that  on  the 
31st  of  July,  as  he  was  leaving  London, 
the  French  ambassador  came  to  him  and 
said: 

"See  the  President  to-night,  and  tell  him 
from  me  that  at  this  date  I  have  absolutely; 
no  idea  what  England  will  do." 

Meanwhile,  in  the  face  of  a  national  crisis, 
four  of  the  English  Cabinet  had  handed  in 
their  resignations,  two  of  which  were  subse- 
quently withdrawn.  On  the  2d  of  August, 
while  a  party  was  dining  at  the  house  of  the 
English  ambassador  in  Paris,  the  crowd 
parading  the  streets  below  stopped  directly 
below  the  windows,  crying: 

"Vive  1'Angleterre!" 

The  English  ambassador,  intensely 
Francophile,  said  to  his  guests  in  the  sudden 
lull  which  followed  the  incident: 

"Two  days  from  now  they  will  be  crying: 
Terfide  Albion'!" 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  FRANCE 

In  Berlin  Jagow  had  answered  Cambon's 
question  as  to  whether  he  had  considered 
what  would  happen  if  England  should  de- 
cide to  enter  the  war  with  a  contemptuous: 
"England  will  not  budge;  of  that  we  are  ab- 
solutely certain." 

So  persuaded  of  this  fact  had  been  the 
German  ambassador  to  England  that  a 
member  of  the  English  Foreign  Office  told 
me  that  on  August  5,  at  the  assembling  of 
Parliament,  when  Sir  Edward  Grey  came 
to  his  final  declaration  of  war,  the  German 
ambassador,  who  was  seated  directly  in 
front  of  my  informant,  collapsed,  and  that 
his  friends  were  forced  to  watch  over  him 
for  days,  for  fear  that  he  might  take  his  own 
life. 

It  is  undoubtedly  true  that  had  England 
expressed  her  intention  of  assisting  France 
immediately  there  would  have  been  no  war. 
This  is  no  reflection  upon  the  English  na- 
tion. It  is  the  colossal  blunder  of  German 


244          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

diplomacy,  which,  having  a  foreknowledge 
of  the  intended  invasion  of  Belgium,  could 
not  reason  out  that,  despite  all  sentimental 
opposition  and  disorganization  in  England, 
the  empire  could  never  tolerate  for  a  mo- 
ment even  a  temporary  acquisition  of  the 
Belgian  water  front  which  would  threaten 
its  security  as  it  had  never  been  threatened 
before.  Why  England  did  not  openly  an- 
nounce this  compelling  and  alarming  rea- 
son for  self-defense  as  her  trumpet  call, 
rather  than  seeking  justification  on  senti- 
mental grounds,  is  another  question. 

After  a  year  of  the  war,  two  great  na- 
tions stand  out,  united  in  spiritual  solidar- 
ity, organized  to  the  last  resource  and  the 
last  man — France  and  Germany.  And  the 
astonishing  thing  is — a  fact  which  is  our  own 
political  justification  and  hope — that  a  na- 
tion conceived  in  our  ideas,  and  not  an  im- 
perialistic nation,  has  found  its  resources  in 
the  moral  strength  of  freemen  to  equal  the 


long,  mechanical  preparation  of  imperial 
Germany. 

England  has  fallen  down  to-day  where 
France  failed  at  Poitiers  and  Crecy.  In 
those  early  tests  of  the  social  organization 
of  the  two  nations  England  defeated 
France  through  the  strength  of  her  yeomen, 
because  she  opposed  to  the  brilliant  aristoc- 
racy of  France,  depending  on  the  loyalty  of 
its  peasants — impoverished,  ragged  animals 
in  a  state  of  barbarism — a  free  peasantry, 
self-respecting,  industrious,  and  educated 
to  political  rights. 

To-day  the  most  significant  outstanding 
fact  in  this  revealing  war  is  the  complete  re- 
versal of  history  which  has  been  effected. 
The  strength  of  France  is  the  achieved 
strength  of  her  masses,  their  enlightenment, 
their  richness,  and  their  consciousness  of 
individual  responsibility.  The  staggering 
weakness  of  England  to-day  is  in  the  im- 
poverishment, moral  and  economical,  of  her 


; 


246          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

masses.  The  workmen  of  France  have 
asked  no  increase  of  wages.  They  are  equal 
trustees  in  the  national  faith.  They  yield 
to  no  man  a  sense  of  higher  responsibility. 
M.  Corbin,  one  of  the  great  manufacturers 
of  ammunition,  told  me  personally  that  he 
had  never  had  an  hour's  trouble  with  his 
workmen,  though  he  had  had  to  improvise 
and  increase  his  output  fiftyfold.  More- 
over, in  the  first  weeks,  a  delegation  waited 
on  him  and  asked  him  to  take  4  per  cent, 
from  their  wages  each  week  and  forward 
it  to  the  assistance  of  their  comrades  at  the 
front.  For  generations,  despite  the  warn- 
ing of  her  thinkers,  England,  through  un- 
scientific handling  of  her  labor  problems,  has 
permitted  her  masses  physically  to  degener- 
ate through  overwork  and  the  spreading 
curse  of  drunkenness;  while  the  survival  of 
feudal  fallacy  of  primogeniture,  in  main- 
taining and  increasing  enormous  estates,  in- 
stead of  distributing  equally  the  wealth  of 


the  nation,  has  intensified  class  hatred  and 
miscomprehension.  To  realize  how  serious 
is  the  condition  that  the  great  political  lead- 
ers in  England  are  striving  to  remedy,  com- 
pare with  the  French  attitude  the  attitude 
of  the  English  workmen.  I  am  willing  to 
admit  that  all  shortcomings  are  not  on  their 
side,  and  that  there  is  much  justification  in 
their  plea  that  they  have  in  many  cases,  in 
face  of  an  increase  in  the  cost  of  living,  been 
striking  to  have  their  fair  share  of  the  extra 
profits  which  have  been  coming  to  their  em- 
ployers. The  greatest  charge  against  them 
is  that  they  are  not  intelligent;  that  to  this 
day  they  do  not  realize  the  mortal  serious- 
ness of  the  struggle. 

Remember  also  that  after  ten  months, 
when  the  nation  had  been  awakened  to  the 
need  of  high-explosive  shells  and  to  the 
frank  admission  that  every  resource  of  the 
empire  would  be  taxed  to  avert  disastrous 
defeat,  the  military  leaders  were  still  forced 


248          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

to  an  extraordinary  expedient  to  convince 
the  laboring  classes  of  the  gravity  of  the  sit- 
uation. A  group  of  labor  leaders  were  in- 
vited to  pay  a  visit  to  the  fighting  lines. 
For  five  days  they  were  personally  con- 
ducted, under  the  highest  military  patron- 
age, and  were  given  the  opportunity  to  con- 
verse with  soldiers  by  the  hundreds,  to  put 
their  own  questions.  At  the  end  of  this 
pilgrimage  they  returned  and  solemnly  an- 
nounced that  it  was  quite  true  that  the  gal- 
lant boys  at  the  front  needed  high-explosive 
shells — they  had  seen  them  themselves,  and 
learned  of  their  own  knowledge!  When 
you  consider  that  this  means  had  to  be  re- 
sorted to  after  the  bombardment  of  coast 
towns,  the  sinking  of  the  Lusitania,  the  use 
of  poisonous  gases,  and  the  dropping  of 
bombs  on  defenseless  inland  inhabitants,  you 
may  realize  the  gravity  of  the  English  situa- 
tion. 

Russia,  supposed  to  be  a  semi-barbaric  na- 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  FRANCE      249 

tion,  was  able  to  put  in  force  immediately  the 
ban  on  vodka;  France  has  forbidden  the  sale 
of  absinthe ;  but  England,  the  great  modern 
empire,  when  she  attempted  to  check  the  rav- 
ages of  drunkenness,  was  forced  to  recoil. 
To-day  probably  the  one  thing  that  is  keep- 
ing England  from  compulsory  service, 
which  she  owes  as  a  debt  to  her  allies,  is  this 
fear  of  her  sullen  masses. 

Yet,  despite  these  facts,  apparent  to  us,  I 
found  the  French  attitude  toward  the  Eng- 
lish one  of  generosity,  enlightened  always 
by  their  judicial  sense.  They  do  not  be- 
little the  services  of  England.  They 
acknowledge  unanimously  their  enormous 
debt  to  the  English  navy.  They  are  loud 
in  their  praise  of  the  adamantine  resistance 
of  the  English  army.  Their  failure  to 
criticize,  as  we  criticize,  the  inability  of 
the  English  army  to  prove  itself,  after 
one  year  of  preparation,  an  effective,  ag- 
gressive instrument,  is  due  to  their  thor- 


250          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

ough  comprehension  of  the  long  organ- 
ization and  technical  application  which  are 
necessary  for  a  modern  army.  Here  per- 
haps is  an  element  few  reckon  with  when 
their  attention  is  concentrated  simply  on  the 
admitted  lack  of  necessary  ammunition. 
The  great  weakness  (and  one  not  to  be  won- 
dered at)  of  the  English  army  to-day  is  not 
in  its  regiments  of  soldiers,  but  in  its  lack 
of  trained  officers.  Intelligence  and  not 
heroism  or  superior  social  position  makes  the 
effective  officer  needed  in  the  technical 
operations  of  modern  warfare.  Unfor- 
tunately, in  the  hastily  converted  staffs  of 
officers  there  is  the  same  lack  of  intelligence, 
the  same  uncomprehension,  which  is  the  dis- 
couraging element  in  the  mass  of  the  people. 
The  English  officers  still  seem  to  believe,  as 
they  believed  in  the  Boer  War  and  as  they 
believed  at  the  time  of  Braddock's  disastrous 
expedition,  that  the  duty  of  an  officer  is  to 
show  his  men  how  to  die  like  a  hero,  and  that 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  FRANCE      251 

if  enough  of  them  die  heroically  England 
must  win  the  war.  It  is  a  curious  thing, 
this  misconception  of  values ;  as  though  war 
has  not  always  been  heroism  for  the  van- 
quished and  superior  intelligence  on  the  side 
of  the  victors.  We  have  fallen  into  the  sen- 
timental error  of  regarding  a  conflict  be- 
tween fifty  Anglo-Saxons,  armed  with  ma- 
chine guns  and  repeating  rifles,  and  say 
three  thousand  Zulus,  as  a  conflict  of  heroes 
against  staggering  odds.  The  opposite  is 
true.  The  true  heroes  are  the  naked  Zulus, 
armed  only  with  wooden  spears,  throwing 
themselves  into  the  teeth  of  certain  slaugh- 
ter, while  certainty  is  on  the  side  of  the  little 
band  of  moderns. 

All  the  French  officers  I  met  who  have 
been  in  contact  with  the  English  army,  in 
their  outspoken  admiration  of  English  brav- 
ery, speak  in  wonder  at  the  unnecessary  loss 
of  life. 

To  say  that  there  is  to-day  no  feeling  of 


252          THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

criticism  among  the  French  toward  the 
English  is  not  completely  true.  The 
French,  with  all  their  patience  and  recogni- 
tion of  the  handicaps  under  which  the  Eng- 
lish are  staggering,  cannot  understand  the 
conduct  of  the  English  nation  at  home. 
Conscious  that  they  are  fighting  England's 
cause,  they  cannot  comprehend  England's 
delay  in  pledging  every  resource  and  every 
man  by  placing  the  country  on  a  military 
basis,  mobilizing  all  effectives  in  compulsory 
service,  putting  an  end  to  costly  strikes, 
while  at  the  same  time  regulating  the  profits 
of  industries.  Unless  England  can  shortly 
find  the  unity  to  do  this,  I  believe  the  after- 
results  will  be  an  abiding  resentment  not 
only  among  her  allies  but  among  her  own 
colonies  that  will  profoundly  shape  the 
course  of  her  internal  and  foreign  policies. 

A  glance  at  the  map  of  Europe,  at  the 
great  area  of  territory  coveted  by  Germany 
in  Belgium^  the  north  of  France,  Russian 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  FRANCE      253 

Poland,  and  Russia;  by  Russia  in  East 
Prussia  and  Galicia;  by  Austria  on  the 
Italian  and  Balkan  frontiers;  by  England 
in  Africa  and  Asia  Minor,  and  by  France 
in  the  little  region  of  Alsace  and  Lorraine, 
will  show  the  small  compensation  that  this 
Republic  expects  in  return  for  the  unequal 
burden  she  is  bearing.  That  the  French 
now  are  determined  on  the  recovery  of  the 
lost  provinces  is  true,  but  it  is  not  a  greed 
for  new  territory. 

They  desire  Alsace  and  Lorraine  as  their 
right,  and  as  a  monument  to  the  heroism  and 
sacrifice  of  the  present.  They  are  at  war 
for  the  supremacy  of  ennobling  ideas — to 
bring  freedom  to  the  German  masses,  after 
defending  it  for  their  own.  "Since  things 
are  as  they  are,  we  have  got  to  help  them 
make  their  own  revolution." 

The  word  of  France  is  Peace  for  our 
children.  I  have  found  this  to  be  the  in- 
variable answer,  whether  my  question  was 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

addressed  to  General  Joffre,  to  President 
Poincare,  to  the  soldiers  in  the  trenches,  the 
wounded  in  the  hospitals,  the  working  girls, 
still  maintaining  their  courage  in  the  work- 
rooms, or  the  women  in  black,  who  have  al- 
ready given  of  their  sons.  Peace  to-day, 
they  know,  would  mean  the  acknowledgment 
of  the  German  domination  of  Europe,  which 
would  exist,  in  fact,  in  another  decade. 
They  believe,  rightly,  that  peace  in  Europe 
depends  upon  the  issue  of  democracy  in 
Germany.  Recognizing  this,  they  are  one 
and  all  determined  to  be  rid  of  the  hideous- 
ness  of  war  by  continuing  this  one  until  it 
shall  have  so  come  home  to  the  German  na- 
tion that  they  shall  have  felt  the  ravage  and 
desolation  which  they  have  sown  themselves ; 
that  the  German  people,  exhausted,  dis- 
illusionized, and  betrayed,  may  rise  in  revolt 
against  the  militarism  that  has  overreached 
their  destiny. 

Between  the  French  masses  and  the  Ger- 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  FRANCE      255 

man  masses  there  is  much  sympathy  and 
profound  admiration.  Only  a  republic  in 
Germany,  or  at  least  equal  suffrage  and  a 
parliamentary  responsibility  which  would 
bring  the  domination  of  democratic  princi- 
ples, can  mean  peace,  and  not  fifty  years  of 
war.  Were  Germany  to  become  republi- 
can, I  believe  that  the  weight  of  their  sym- 
pathetic political  bodies  would  be  so  decisive 
that  within  a  decade  France  and  Germany 
would  be  in  alliance,  with  the  object  of 
maintaining  the  security  of  Europe  on  the 
basis  of  advanced  Socialistic  principles. 

Were  a  drawn  conflict  or  a  German  vic- 
tory possible,  France  would  undoubtedly  be 
forced,  in  self-defense,  into  a  more  directly 
centralized  form  of  government,  either  in 
the  shape  of  a  dictator  or  a  president  with 
powers  even  more  increased  than  our  own. 
Even  in  the  case  of  a  successful  war,  great 
constitutional  changes  may  be  expected. 
In  the  impatience  and  disgust  of  the  people 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

at  the  present  parliamentary  control  an  ap- 
prehension of  revolt  is  undoubtedly  in  the 
minds  of  those  little  politicians  who  are  to- 
day futilely  seeking  to  impose  the  absurdity 
of  parliamentary  control  over  military  au- 
thority. 

When  the  final  outcome  has  been  reached 
we  may  expect  a  splendid  renaissance  in 
Italy,  the  progress  of  Russian  civilization  ad- 
vanced a  century  by  the  object  lesson  of 
German  strategic  preparation,  and  France 
and  Germany  as  the  two  great  unified  and* 
modern  nations.  What  will  become  of 
England — whether  her  sun  has  set  in  her 
total  inability  to  see  the  truth  and  place  it 
before  her  people,  or  whether,  casting  aside 
all  sentimental  illusions  and  ingrained 
pride,  she  will  find  the  moral  courage  for 
ruthless  self-examination  and  reorganiza- 
tion— is  the 'question  that  to-day  looms  above 
all  others. 

THE  END 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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